


Down in Lonesome Town

by resurrectedhippo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bearded Steve Rogers Building Stuff, Bird Watching, Birds, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, Crying, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Fix-It, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Lake Tahoe, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Nature, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, POV Steve Rogers, Pining Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reconciliation, References to Depression, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers-centric, Steve in Vormir, Switching, Tattoos, Tony Stark Lives, Top Steve Rogers, Yosemite - Freeform, steve returns the stones and comes back to the present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 79,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo/pseuds/resurrectedhippo
Summary: “Why do I always find my way back to you?”Maybe he didn’t necessarily return to Steve, but fate is a funny little thing, and after living a life of loss, Steve wants something that’s his to keep. Tony deserves a love that’s unrestrained. Steve thinks he’ll erupt with it.Love is messy, not easy, and takes work.Maybe love feels like rage.But maybe love could just be jumping off a rocky mountain and smiling anyway.After the universe is restored, Steve is lost without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a misty blue lake. Across the bridge is Tony Stark’s new workshop.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, divorced pepper/tony - Relationship
Comments: 284
Kudos: 536





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is so many things. It just kept evolving as I wrote it.
> 
> But mostly, it's a story about love. Love, of course, comes with grief and mourning. When it’s unrequited, when love dies, when love disappoints. But there's always the possibility of reconciliation and compromise - for those that are lucky, maybe. This is the spirit and quiet sort-of longing that I had when writing this fic and it's just a cocktail of feelings, musings, and ideas about what love is, what it could be, how people could love with justice. How to love yourself. How to forgive yourself. How to say I love you without ever uttering the words. And I really wanted to say something about love being simple, complicated, easy, banal, and fucked.
> 
> I am not kidding when I say slow burn - there's mourning, grieving, and living in the quiet spaces of loss here. But happiness, too. 
> 
> angstony said: "you just might have to turn on your location...i just wanna talk bro" - and I think that's a better summary of what I have above. 
> 
> It will be updated every Tuesday. I hope you enjoy it. :)
> 
> “You do not deserve love regardless of the suffering you have endured. You do not deserve love because somebody did you wrong. You do not deserve love just because you want it. You can only earn—by practice and careful contemplation—the right to express it and you have to learn how to accept it.” -Toni Morrison
> 
> Thanks to fundamentalblue, temp, nathan, tree, & stella from the POTS discord server for the beta <3  
>    
>  **[Dec. 19, 2020: Art is now embedded in Ch 8!]**

Steve is sitting on the lumpy leather sofa shoved to the corner of the room. Beside him, Rhodes sits, quiet, with a constant furrow between his brows. If he didn’t like Steve before, he definitely didn’t like Steve now. After all, it was Steve who persuaded Tony to give it another go. _We’ll win. Together._

The scene is a familiar one: Tony lying on a hospital bed, eyes shut. Except, this time, he’s been asleep for weeks and Natasha wasn’t perched by the foot of Tony’s bed. 

She usually did that. Before. Sat beside Tony so she’d be the first to give him a soft grin before Steve finished lecturing him about not listening to commands in the field. Along with Nat, it had become Steve’s favorite habit to chastise Tony after a mission. They were together as a team for a short while, a year and some change, before Steve decided to go to DC and Natasha followed along.

Steve catches a mirage in the corner of his eyes. A flash of burning red, the color of Iron Man. He doesn’t look over, too focused on Tony’s prone form. But Steve feels someone, something watching him.

 _It’s not real._ Steve frowns at the wall. _It’s all in your head, Rogers._ There’s nothing there.

It’s the soft whimper from Steve’s left side that has him following the sound. He’s slightly confused to see the flash of red. Steve resolutely ignores the specter, willing it to leave with his stubbornness. 

He looks anyway.

There’s a mirage of a person, shades paler than the bleach white hospital sheets. A wink of red that reminds Steve of the way someone–no–Nat, flicked her hair. 

_It’s not real._ The form vanishes, and Steve blinks, his eyes telling him that nothing was there in the first place.

Sometimes, Steve wonders how the threads of their lives could have changed if he signed the Accords, if he had told Tony about his parents. 

Those times on the run, he entertained the idea that perhaps they’d all still be living in the Avengers Tower, going on missions and having take-out on Thursday evenings. In those moments when he’s a weaker man, Steve thinks of all the times he watched Tony in the workshop, in his element, humming to AC/DC or Led Zeppelin. During those times, all Steve wanted to do was curl up on the couch and sketch the man who sat before him, a screwdriver in the ‘o’ of his lips. 

But no, what’s done is done. The thread has been stitched a bloody red color. Pulling out the string means unraveling. Steve wasn’t quite sure if the fabric of his life would survive the pull.

Even though Tony’s cracked time travel–and of course he did, the man was a damn genius–there’s no going back, not really; he only has the future, and he’ll try to make this right. He’ll make it right. It’ll be fine. 

When Tony wakes up, Steve will ask him if they can talk. They’ll have serious conversation, hash everything out; there’s a lot of things they need to process together. He can’t do it without Tony. So, Tony has to wake up, because it’s been six weeks and he’s still in a coma-induced sleep.

Dr. Cho has told him, time and time again, since the first day, that Tony’s body needs to recover at its own pace. There is an average time it takes to heal, she’d told him, but each person is different.

Steve’s always considered himself a patient man. Natasha told him so. She used to roll her eyes when Steve would wait for Tony to have dinner together at the Tower. Even then, Natasha suspected and teased him drily about acting like Tony’s mother hen. Natasha wouldn’t even pretend to hide her trademark grin: the one where her left lip tilts to the side and a bit of her incisor shows. 

No, he can’t think about Natasha right now. Tony. Tony is the only thing he can hold onto. So, Tony needs to wake up because Steve thinks he can’t do this on his own. 

“Pudding?” Morgan offers her hand.

“Remember, Morgan, this is Steve.” Rhodes pulls her hair playfully.

“No, it’s Pudding,” she retorts. Steve’s been her pudding machine, accompanying her whenever she got too tired of staying beside Pepper. “Come on, mommy said we can get some.” 

Steve looks at Pepper for permission. She nods. For some reason, she trusts him, and the thought makes him uncomfortable. With all the times Steve asks for her permission, Pepper eyes him with curiosity. Sometimes she frowns at him, a line appearing between her brows. Other times, Steve finds Pepper watching him as he plants himself on the lumpy couch, staring at Tony’s unmoving figure. He should be happy that Pepper thinks well-enough of him to leave Morgan under his care, even for just for the short walk down the elevator and into the hospital café. 

Yet, he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t deserve it. That it’s a test. Wasn’t it Steve that asked Tony to roll the dice on his second chance? And now he’s there in the hospital bed, unconscious, while his wife and daughter wait, life on pause until Tony wakes up. Pepper should be upset. Should hate him. Not once in all the weeks they’ve spent together did she ever blame Steve. _It was his choice,_ she said a few days after Tony was brought into Dr. Cho’s care. _Who am I to stop him?_

“Pudding!” Morgan says, happy and content as all children should be. 

It brings a soft smile on his lips. It never fails.

She’s just like Tony in her excitement of simple things. She has his eyes too, wide and brown, with a hint of green in the middle. Seeing her these past six weeks makes his heart stutter. He _is_ happy for Tony. Steve is overjoyed that Tony had time to build a life, a home, and marry the person who was always by his side.

Not like him.

No, there’s no time to be pitiful. He redirects his attention to Morgan skipping to the elevator. When she notices he’s still down the hall, she runs over, pudding precariously in her hands, then stops short in front of Steve.

“I like you, Pudding.” She reaches for his hand, and because Steve is too tall, he slouches as they walk back to Tony’s room. 

When they arrive, Steve spots Rhodes outside the door. Rhodes bends down, a smile on his face. “Sleeping beauty is finally awake.”

“Daddy’s up?” She turns her beaming smile onto Steve. “Now we can finally play Rescue and Iron Man together.”

Her smile, wide and white, makes Steve’s heart ache. It reminds him of the way Tony laughs when he finally solves a puzzle. He used to draw the wrinkles under his eyes and the dimple that would appear whenever Tony smiled. When the grin was careless, free. Steve sees so much of Tony in her that something grows in the depths of his chest. A feeling he can’t name. 

Rhodes pushes her into the room and then turns to glare at Steve. “He’s awake.” Rhodes slumps in relief. “Fuck.”

Steve nods. The simple movement feels like he’s swallowing glass. He doesn’t want to ask Rhodes if he can see Tony. There’s this self-righteous part of him that thinks he should be able to see Tony.

He’s responsible for this. He should be able to make his case, his apologies. 

“Let’s give them a few minutes as a family together.” Rhodes uncrosses his arms, walks over to Steve, and gives him a pat on the shoulders. 

Steve feels like shit. Tony was right, as always. Rhodes was too nice. 

“Should I come back tomorrow?” 

Rhodes shakes his head. “No, he’ll want to see you.”

They stay quiet, standing side by side in the hall. He can hear Morgan’s delighted laughter, Pepper’s happy and angry sobs, _you’re not allowed to do that again!_ she says. 

Then, there’s Tony, all soft-eyed… _yes, dear_. 

Steve takes a deep breath, then releases it, feeling like he’s been stuck under ice since Siberia. Hearing Tony again is like coming up from the water. Suddenly, he can hear his own heart beating, a loud banging erupting from his ribcage. He can run ten miles without breaking a sweat. Tony teased him about it before. But here he is, warm from his ears to toes. Steve hears Tony’s voice but can’t focus on the sound, too distracted by his racing thoughts. Tony’s alive.

He heaves, a feeling like choking on air, akin to when Tony— 

Another hot flash, then he’s cold all over. Steve’s mind replays Tony stealing the stones from Thanos’ gauntlet. The smirk that followed the line of Tony’s lips. Steve, for the life of him, with all of his Captain America courage, couldn’t understand the sarcastic line on Tony’s lip. He was meeting death. Again. And again. An endless cycle. Is this life? Is this the future he wants?

He recalls the stones following Tony’s kneeling form. Steve, distracted by the battle surrounding him, only caught the glimmer of blues, greens, yellows running up the armor’s forearms and into the gauntlet. 

A snap. 

Tony screams. 

“Rogers. You alright?” Rhodes moves to touch him, then thinks better of it. 

Steve nods, or at least he tries to, but he thinks a cry is about to escape from his lips. Tony’s screams haunt him. Steve supposes that it’s worse because he didn’t see the snap. The alien about to knock into him disappeared and he was left to see the aftermath: Peter slinging his webs to get to Tony, Pepper in her Rescue suit flying past Steve. 

“You’re shaking. You need to sit.” Rhodes redirects him to the seats down the hall, leaves, then returns with a bottle of water. “Tony has that effect on people. I would know.” He says with a forced grin.

Hot all over, Steve presses the cool bottle to his temples. He bites back a sob. Breathes deep, then, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to—” 

Rhodes lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s fine, Rogers.” 

Steve forces air into his lungs and out again. He can’t even open the bottle with his shaky fingers, so he resorts to balling his hand into fists, clenching the water bottle in the other, and drops his head to his knees. 

In and out, in and out. 

“He’s stable. Dr. Cho will continue to keep him for observation for at least another week. She’ll be fitting him for an arm soon. But he’s already telling Pepper that he’ll be making his own arm. Probably in red and gold. Like the suit. He _is_ Iron Man.” Rhodes chuckles, but he sounds relieved. “Fuck. You can’t take that away. Goddamn, Iron Man. He’s good, Rogers— or as good as he can be.”

Steve opens the bottle and takes a sip, allowing the drink to calm him. He still feels like shit. “I’m–I’m glad that he’s survived this. That he’ll be fine.” Steve looks up, catching Rhodes wipe a stray tear. 

Rhodes was there after Steve and Tony’s fall out. The one beside Tony through the years, unlike Steve who was off living life as a nomad, crossing borders to other countries, seeking work when available, saving lives when possible. For the tenth time that week, Steve wishes he was a bit more like Rhodes: secure in his decisions. 

“I’m real fucking happy. Fuck. Shit. You’ll excuse the crying. Listen, Rogers. As much as I want to shoot your kneecaps for convincing Tony to follow your call, I know it was his choice. He could never say no to you. He always makes the right choice, in the end. This wasn’t just for you; this was for all those people who lost somebody. But he risked everything, Morgan, Pepper, his life, just to get the rest of us here. Do you know how much his family means to him? The life he built here. With Pepper and Morgan.”

“I know, Rhodes, I’m—” Steve begins.

 _I’m sorry, he wants to say._ That of course, he knew the sacrifices that Tony had to make. Yeah, Steve did it again. Took Tony away from his family. Forced Tony’s hand. Great, Rogers. Just brilliant. He can’t help the shame crawling over his skin. Because if Tony died, he’d have made a widower of Pepper. Orphaned Morgan. 

“No, you don’t get to apologize or say anything. It was the right call at the time. But Rogers, after this… you can’t let Tony do this anymore. You need a new team.” Rhodes crosses his arms across his chest, plants his feet to the floor. Unmoving and unmoved by Steve’s defeated form.

“It’s his call," Steve says, sounding defensive even to his own ears.

“And I know him. You were there for a specific period of time. Not after the snap. He has something great here.” Rhodes steps forward, squeezes Steve’s shoulder. He adds softly, “with his family. Let him have that.” 

Steve chews the inside of his mouth, nodding. Family sounds like a refrain from an unfamiliar song. He carries the loss of his mother everyday. 

He plans to tell Tony about retiring. Steve isn't returning to the Avengers or the newly formed S.H.I.E.L.D. 

He doesn’t know if he has anything to return to. 

The compound was destroyed in the battle. The Tower was a mausoleum filled with ghosts of the past, haunting him over what his life could have been. It doesn’t belong to Steve. It’s Tony’s, and all of it was from him. 

Eventually, when the quiet settles and Steve manages to focus on centering his hammering heart, Rhodes offers Steve a hand up and leads him to enter Tony’s room. 

Steve silently follows. 

If it wasn’t for the serum, Steve would have assumed that his heart condition had returned. 

Tony is on the bed, pillows framing his back, so he’s sitting up. Pepper and Morgan flank his sides. They’re sharing a laugh about something silly Morgan did weeks ago, while Tony was still asleep. Pepper and Morgan take turns retelling the story. And Steve, once more on the sidelines, listens as Pepper tells Tony of Morgan’s mishap with Tony’s faceplate. She is fond of her father’s suit.

Pepper holds Tony’s hand, while Morgan cuddles up to his side. She talks fast and gestures wildly with an empty cup of pudding still in her hands. Tony only has eyes for the two women beside him and it warms Steve’s heart to see how much attention he devotes to Morgan and Pepper. 

Pepper gives Steve a slight smile. A nod, a permission, an offering. If it’s pity, Steve will take it. 

She nods towards Steve. “Tony, Steve’s here.” 

Tony’s almost as thin as the time he returned from space five years ago. When the god forsaken ship landed in the Compound, Steve can vividly recall how Tony wobbled into the grass, hands shaky as if he was grateful to feel the soil beneath his feet. Steve ran towards him, holding him by the shoulders, checking for any open wounds or signs of torture. He recalls Tony’s hoarse voice, telling Steve that he lost the kid. In that moment, all Steve wanted to do was take Tony to his room at the Compound and hide him from the rest of the universe. He wanted to run a warm bath and wash his hair, maybe hum a song and lull him to sleep.

But no, there were pressing matters to attend to. Pepper came running past him, so Steve removed his hands from Tony. Instead he watched the tension leave Tony’s body as he collapsed onto Pepper. 

And then he remembers the way Tony’s voice wavered in Siberia, how he left Tony on the ground with his shield, stripped of his title as Captain, losing the honor that came with being Tony’s friend. 

“Hey, Cap.” 

“No, that’s Pudding!” Morgan says.

“Pudding, huh?” Tony raises a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Morgan here has nicknamed Steve ‘Pudding’ because he can’t resist her request for sugar.” Pepper runs her hands down Morgan’s hair, a smile on her face. 

_Just like you,_ Steve wants to say. 

They are the picture of a happy family. Steve can’t help it if he’s drawn to them. Soon enough, he’s by Tony’s bed, looking down at him. He shoves his hands deeply into his pockets, too afraid to reach for Tony’s face, his hands. Too scared that if given the chance, Steve will pull Tony into his arms and not let go. He’s always at risk of losing Tony. 

Tony’s got new lines under his eyes. Steve used to count the thin, spidery lines down on his left eye. Back in the Tower, Tony had two wrinkles on the left and three on the right. No matter, the world dubbed it crow’s feet, but whenever Steve sketched it, he always thought the lines accentuated Tony’s eyes.

Even with the best pencils in the market, Steve could never get the shade of brown right. He misses the days in the Tower. It didn’t occur to him that there’d be a moment in time when he wouldn’t see the open smile and the trust in Tony’s eyes. 

“It’s good to see you, Tony,” Steve says, momentarily uncomfortable by speaking the same words he’s said to Tony before. In a different context. Yes. But Steve always meant it. 

“The universe can’t get rid of me, Cap. I’m still kicking.” Tony grins, but Steve can tell he’s still a bit in awe. For what? Steve guesses: surviving the snap, waking to see his wife and kid. 

Another step closer. Steve flexes hands in his pocket. “How are you feeling?” 

“I guess, lighter? I mean, I’ve just lost about fifteen pounds through a single snap.” 

“Oh god, Tony! Don’t joke about that!” Pepper shakes her head. “Helen will fit you a temporary prosthetic soon. You’ll have to go through physical therapy once you’re cleared from bed rest.” 

“Temporary because she knows that I’ll build myself an arm or because she’ll use Extremis to regrow my limbs?” 

“You can’t use Extremis on yourself, Tony,” Steve reasons.

“She already used Extremis for your recovery. You can’t overdo it, Tones,” Rhodey says.

“If you may recall, I took Extremis out of Pepper. I’m well versed.” Tony tries for a shrug, but he winces instead. Beside him, Morgan wraps her arms around her father. “Not too tight, baby.” 

“How are you, Tony?” Steve repeats. 

Steve really wants to know if Tony’s alright and what his plans are now. Steve has a list of questions he wants to check off. What does Tony want to do now? What will his physical therapy and recovery entail? Was Pepper taking them back to their cabin? Who’ll lead the Avengers now? He wants to bring Tony back to the Compound, sit beside him as they brainstorm their future. 

No, not theirs. 

Slow down, Rogers. He wills himself. Unsurprisingly, the reprimand sounds like Natasha’s voice. 

Steve inhales slowly, through his nose. Forcing himself to focus, Steve presses the balls of his feet to the linoleum floor. An attempt to get his shit together. 

There’s a difference between being alive and surviving. Steve wants to know if there’s anything he can do with his very limited abilities. It seems like all he’s good for is escorting Morgan to the café. He feels helpless and just a bit stupid watching Tony from the corner of the hospital room. 

But it’s always been like that, hasn’t it? Steve in the corner of the workshop watching Tony work on his project. Steve could be in the middle of a battle, rubble and debris falling around him, but his eyes would watch the fluid and graceful movements of the Iron Man suit. 

Tony holds his glance. Tired, glassy eyes, red-rimmed as if he was crying. He probably was, Steve decides. “Fine, Cap. I’ll be fine.” 

“But you’ve just—” 

Tony interrupts, tilting his head. “I know what I’ve lost,” he says sharply, looking down at his stump. “But we won, right? That’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it?” 

There it is again. Tony’s defeated smirk and sharp eyes piercing into Steve. He hasn’t seen Tony with that same expression in years. 

“I didn’t know what we’d lose.” Steve wants to say I’m sorry, a thousand million times, every day for the rest of his life. But he doesn’t. It isn’t the right moment. “I really didn’t, Tony. We had a chance to do right. And Nat—she’s—” Steve swallows the words down. 

Maybe that’s his problem. He’s always waiting for the right time. But what frame of reference does Steve have? Nothing. He’s the Man Out of Time for a reason. 

There’s a soft knock on the door. A moment later, Dr. Helen Cho enters and greets the room.

“As your doctor, I’ll be fitting you for an arm once you’ve rested. I’m sure you’ll want to know what I’ve done. My team and I used a stabilized dose of Extremis to heal your organs. You had severe lung and liver damage. Your heart was about to give out. You lost your arm even before you were taken to our lab. There was no saving it. The nerve damage from your hand affected the rest of your nervous system. Extremis was able to heal all of this, but I didn’t want to risk overusing it as the long-term effects are still unknown.” She pauses, gripping the clipboard before pushing her glasses up her nose. 

“God, am I ugly now? Pep? At least tell me that I look badass with the scars.” Tony glances at Pepper, wide-eyed, before turning to Morgan. “Am I still handsome, baby?”

Morgan laughs and kisses his cheek. “Yeah.”

Steve’s holding his breath. He knows the damage. He’s heard Dr. Cho say this ten-times over, but hearing it again and watching a range of emotions flash through Tony’s face makes Steve’s entire body ache. 

A frightened look appears, but Tony soon schools his expression as Morgan whimpers. She’s much too young to hear any talk of violence. Tony rubs circles along her spine while he plasters on a determined glance towards Cho. 

He’s a good father, Steve observes. He’s only known Morgan for a couple of weeks, but she talks about Tony like he hung the moon. And in this case, he practically did. Tony’s a hero in all regards. Steve feels something warm inside him curl at the sight of them. Steve didn’t expect Tony as a father. When you spend life on the run, chasing after villians, it’s hard to tell if there’s room for a family. But here’s Tony. He’s got a life. Fatherhood never looked so good on anyone else. 

Not even Clint or Scott, who spoke highly of their children, had as deep of a devotion that Tony demonstrates. In the end, both Clint and Scott were lured in by Captain America, Steve thinks bitterly. 

She continues, “Dr. Banner and I decided against maximizing the effects of Extremis due to uncertainty with how it would interact with the effects of the Infinity Stones. Tony, you were practically dead when you were brought here.” 

“Dead?” Morgan asks. 

“Jeez, Helen, not in front of my kid.” 

“Apologies.” She rolls her eyes. Her tone softens as she watches Morgan playing with Tony’s fingers. “But Tony, this was too close. You need to rethink your priorities.”

“Saving the universe, Helen. Not the world, _universe._ ” Tony stresses the word. And for once, no one argues with him. Not even Steve. Yes, reckless. It was reckless for Tony to wield the gauntlet, not when Bruce or Steve was there. 

Perhaps, then, Tony would still have both of his limbs. Tony worries the inside of his lips, a flash of teeth drawing blood. Steve smells the tang of iron ooze from Tony’s mouth. It was an old habit that Steve mentally catalogued as an example of Tony’s nervousness and anxiety over things he can’t control. 

“Yes, yes, you’re a superhero,. But not anymore. Extremis helped, but Tony. I’m done talking as your doctor, I’m saying this as your friend of two decades. You don’t have it in you to be Iron Man anymore. For God’s sake, you’re fifty-three years old with a child!” 

Tony smiles lazily, but it comes off as a grimace. “Did you save me just to yell at me and kill me yourself?”

“No, I saved you so I don’t have to deal with another orphan in my lab.” She shakes her head, then covers Tony’s hand with her own. “Rest. You’ll go through the prosthetic fitting in the next day or so. Then we’ll start you on physical therapy once you’re cleared from bed rest.” 

There was nothing for Steve there. Tony, Pepper, and their child, no matter how much she’s warmed up to Steve these last few weeks come together and form their own little bubble. Pepper’s pushing Tony’s hair back, rubbing his neck, while Morgan grips her father’s hand. 

Steve lost his own father as a child, but he was much older than Morgan then. She was only on the cusp of being five. Yet, she’s under no clouded judgement that her father could have died. No, did die. 

Steve’s stomach drops at the stark reminder. He’s been prioritizing one fact: Tony’s alive. The rest doesn’t matter.

The first time he flew out of a helicopter without a parachute felt like freedom. His heart accelerated, but he welcomed the rush of adrenaline the way someone welcomed a friend they haven’t seen for a long period of time. Reminding himself that Tony did die. Did escape. Left this life and was on the verge of moving forward. The thought has Steve's eyes stinging once again. 

He doesn’t understand these confusing, explosive feelings attached to Tony. The man always had his way of getting under Steve’s skin. On Steve’s nerves. He never listens; the arrogant, ego-centric man believes he is the best. 

But that’s because Tony Stark is the best. Steve has yet to meet a human being who has the will to live, believe, imagine, and actualize a better humanity. A better horizon. And that’s just the thing isn’t it? Tony doesn’t just imagine a future, a world for humanity and the rest of the universe. He makes it happen. 

Hell, the only reason they’re still alive is because Tony Stark isn’t just brilliant to the point of both awe and annoyance. It’s because he doesn’t give up.

Tony didn’t give up on Steve or the team that abandoned him. 

Steve watches the scene in front of him, observing how Morgan clings further into Tony, silent and her pudding cup abandoned. Tony pets her hair as Pepper shifts the conversation back to Tony’s recovery. 

They are the portrait of a happy family. There is no room for Steve. He feels foolish for all the weeks he insisted on staying in the hospital room, watching Tony’s recovery. He isn't kin. Steve’s just a colleague who betrayed Tony Stark.

Steve watches Tony’s attention stay completely on Pepper. He remembers Tony giving him the same amount of attentiveness when they lived together in the Tower, and for a brief period of time, in the Compound. Tony’s workshop used to be his little safe haven. It was a crisp vision into Tony Stark’s brain, the way he invented his latest suit, crafted new technological advancements. Futuristic in a way that wasn’t overwhelming to Steve. Perhaps, Tony’s presence had eased Steve then, the same way it does now.

Pepper must feel the same exact way about Tony. Her face no longer pale or streaked with tears that have become familiar in the last few weeks. Steve tracks the way her eyes grow wide as Tony jokes ‘you don’t have to be afraid, you’re still the CEO of SI remember,’ as she shuts her eyes, looks at him softly, with affection. Her whole world was Tony and the same softness reverberated back in Tony’s eyes. An outsider to such raw emotional connection, Steve breathes deeply and exhales.

At least now, Tony’s awake and stable. He obviously has a long way to recovery and has to live with a missing arm. It hurts Steve to see the scars littered on Tony’s shoulder. It’s bad enough to know that Tony’s chest is filled with deep white scissoring lines. The fact that new scars have appeared on his person makes Steve’s head throb. 

They’ve lost so much. 

The scene of a family closely huddled together, open with their affection, reminds Steve of how alone he was and the choices he’s made to get to where he was now; on the periphery of a family he doesn’t belong to. 

Slowly, Steve backs away until his back hits the wall. Tony’s kissing Pepper’s temple, while Morgan makes faces at them. They watch their child laugh. 

She looks like Tony. From the short amount of time that Steve has interacted with Morgan, he knows that she’s got all the best parts of Tony: his heart, over enthusiasm to share all who he is, even the darkest parts of him. Bit by bit, as Steve got to know Tony all those years ago, he was able to peel back the callous façade Howard enforced, the false bravado Tony presented to the public. There was a time when Steve saw past Tony’s sharp tongue, got not only a glimpse, but whole parts of Tony’s kindness, his thoughts, his words.

It isn’t that anymore.

It hasn’t been for a long time. 

Beside him, the irritating specter reappears. He feels its presence like an itch on the side of his arm. Refusing to direct his attention to it, Steve ignores the flash of red hair. The dark suit. He sees a familiar form beside him.

 _Go away,_ he directs to this pale grey apparition. _You’re not real. Stop following me._

The shadow moves as if to shrug and Steve struggles to name the specter conceived from his own memories and nostalgia. 

_What is reality?_ The shadow asks. _With gods, aliens, and the universe unknown._

It’s only a fragment of a voice, wispy in all the ways Nat’s strict, deadpan answers never were. Maybe she’s softer now.

Steve grabs the door handle and makes his exit. The route is familiar. The beige walls of the hospital haunt him and make him itch for his paint brush, reminding him of things he loves and that he has given up on.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve visits the destroyed compound. A reminder of a life he could have chosen if he decided to stay, talk, and not run away. These days Steve’s mind is constantly wondering, filling him with doubt, making him second guess all his life choices. 

Was it the correct choice for him to take the serum? Should he have been selfish, pursued a life with Peggy? Grow old with someone? Building a life with someone, a partner, now seems too daunting; an improbable task. 

How the hell did Tony do it?

Explaining the shit he went through— falling into an ocean, waking to a distinctly different world, dropping from the Potomac, fighting the wars of faceless political men, only to be banished the second Steve had a different opinion— to someone else is unimaginable. He can’t dictate his life these past couple of years to someone in a different place. Someone circling another orbit. 

Once again, his mind returns to Tony. 

Memory is such a precarious thing. Remembering the past is only something he can share with the people who were with him. But there’s the thing: Bucky shared his past, and like any kin, Steve chased him across the world without care for the present. 

Steve wonders whether his disagreement with Tony on the Accords and their later position as rogues could have been avoided if he hadn’t held such a moral high ground. Turned his nose in the air and thought himself better than the rest of the world.

What was it that Tony said? Steve was above the law and pictured himself as a cowboy in the frontier? But utilizing the law to legitimize surveillance, control, and violence is wrong. He still stands by that and he’ll continue the argument with Tony. Only now, Steve imagines he’ll whisper his defense instead of using his fist. Or his shield. 

What a funny thing, the ways in which things that are supposed to protect you also end up as the instruments for your own violence. 

He spends evenings taking long walks around an unfamiliar neighborhood wondering if he’s held all of Tony’s actions against his own expectations, his own measurements of freedom and democracy. Of what’s right. 

Perhaps, what’s right is not always the winning side. He knows that.

Steve didn’t understand in the moment at the airport, in the Siberian bunker, the moment he threw his shield, turned his back against Tony, that he’d lose himself in the process for all the compromises he’d have to make years down the line. 

Steve’s _right_ , dammit.

But so is Tony. How can two people be right in a conversation that calls for a winner? Steve won’t waver. Tony calls him a stubborn jackass. Maybe there’s truth to that. 

_We lost,_ he told Tony. Steve doesn’t like losing, whether that’s a soldier in the field, a pedestrian on the street, or his own teammate. But he’s watched all three fall and seen their bloody faces as they took their last breath. 

Well, not Nat’s.

In the years following the snap, Tony disappeared. 

Well, Steve knew where he was of course. Upstate. Or so Nat had said many years back. Of course, she knew Tony’s location. There was a photo of her and Morgan on her desk. Seeing it used to make Steve’s inside twist up. The photo was on one of Tony’s many offices—one he never used while they all lived in the Compound.

Nat made it her own. It was her desk. An expensive mahogany that hinted at Tony’s taste. Nat loved putting her sock-clad feet on it. 

She was able to repair her relationship with Tony. Unlike Steve, who took the potentiality of saving the universe and all the sad, sad, miserable creatures that existed in it as a sign of faith to not be a coward. To stop running.

To stop avoiding what he’s truly wanted since Tony dropped down in a rocket ship, like a god from another planet all those paperbacks from his childhood wrote about. 

Tony returned to the Compound beaten and wrecked with the loss of Peter Parker. Steve blamed himself, then. He blames himself now, even if Peter Parker has reappeared. The kid was the one who carried Tony’s limp body to Rhodes and Pepper. Steve, once again, watched from the sidelines, up on a hill, beside Clint, whose presence only served to remind him that they lost Nat. 

The wreckage of the Compound is evidence of the battle won. In the end, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Returning to the status quo, restoring the lives forced to disappear into dust. Nothing but air. He wishes the rage and emptiness in his bones would vanish too. But it claws at him in ways in which ugly things do–stealing his energy until Steve has nothing left to do but surrender. 

Pale gray concrete and tech are all over. Untouched since the battle. Not even reporters dare to step foot in the vicinity of the wreckage. He’s seen Sam and Bucky pull up news reports of the battle. Journalists have safely captured the scene from the safety of their helicopters.

There’s only the chirping of the nearby birds, a song bird and an eagle, reminding him of a memory from long ago. His heart twinges, making Steve lose himself in reflections of Tony, Nat, the rest of them. Training with Tony and Clint in the fields. Tony shoots him with repulsors, and after they’d walk over to the lake, dip their feet, splashing each other until one is deemed defeated.

That was always them, huh. Always wanting to be winners.

In war, there aren’t any heroes, just soldiers and civilians left with the task of rebuilding a life. 

Untouched, life forms even with fallen buildings and cracked pavements. There’s already a plant sprouting from the slits of the ruined footpath and up head, where the measly garden lies are some vines splintering and growing over the war-torn rubble. 

Later, Bruce, Bucky, and Sam arrive with their technological contraption in tow. As Bruce sets up, Sam, Bucky, and Steve exchange a few words. They update him on Wanda, Lang, and the rest of the team. Some have already dispersed to be with their families, while others, like Wanda and Bucky, don’t have anyone to come home to but each other. 

If a hotel in Midtown could even be called a home. 

“You don’t have to go, you know.” Bucky pulls him to a quick hug and a forceful pat on the back. Jerk. 

“Yes, I do,” he says easily. According to Bruce, in their timeline, he’d be gone for a moment, while the trip across timelines will take him longer than he cares to be away from his present. From Tony. 

“Let’s hope you learn something, punk.” Bucky smiles, pushing Steve off to stand in the spot Bruce directed. 

Funny how time works in the future. 

No, present. Because that’s where Steve is now. 

And yet, he must leave the present for a past. Another time.

Temporality, Tony explained to him once. Back in the day. When Steve spent a couple of months in the Tower. Before they moved to the Compound. Before Steve left. Before a forced, quick apology that didn’t have any face value at the end of the day. 

Temporality, Tony argued, is a complicated state of being, because it’s not singular. It’s not only time, it’s space. Philosophers in the age of Enlightenment separated space and time as two different concepts. Blinded by this rationale, they didn’t realize the need to understand place and belonging in the world to fully grasp the idea of time. 

Steve didn’t know any of this, not until Tony schooled him on it in mock-haughty.

Tony threw him a Kindle with a bunch of philosophy books and ethnographies downloaded to it. One writer said that there was no sense in being human without place. Place. Place. Placement in the world, belonging, a home. 

Steve didn’t understand what that meant for him, especially when there’s other planets within reach, multiple universes, different timelines he could live his life on. 

Bruce gives him the signal while Sam waves in support. 

Then–Steve’s gone. 

A man out of time. 

* * *

Steve chooses the easiest option first. 

He meets the Ancient One in the New York Sanctum. 

The Ancient One sizes Steve up. Calmly, she brings a hand forward. “You’re here on behalf of Dr. Banner.”

Steve placed the stone on her awaiting palm, nodding. “I volunteered to return the stones.”

She nods, unsurprised. “Indeed. It is very much like you, Steve Rogers, to do so.” She blinks slowly, stepping forward. Steve holds a breath. He’s not here to fight, and he doubts the Ancient One means him harm. “Let me recite what I told Banner. _If I give up the time stone to help your reality, I’m dooming my own._ Tell me, did you feel doomed after waking up from ice, especially knowing how much of your own life you gave up?”

“For a while,” Steve admits, but the statement no longer holds the same emotional despair it once did. He’s going to the past, but he won’t stay. There’s no place for Steve Rogers there. “But not anymore.”

“Somehow, your bargain with Valkyrie gave you more time," she states plainly. 

Steve offers a polite smile in agreement. He has nothing to say to the Ancient One. He’s still struggling to decide whether more time meant he’d suffer a slow death into the future or if it was a blessing for the life he’s lived so far. 

If the serum stopped working, Steve wouldn’t have been frozen in time. A quick death with no time for regrets. For re-tracing his mistakes. For looking at his skin for scars that don’t exist, but somehow still hurt, reminding him that he’s supposed to be invincible. 

But he’s not. 

A quick trip to Morag. He slips past a boisterous Peter Quill trying to make Gamora laugh. 

The rest of the stones follow, until all that’s left is a dreaded trip to Vormir. 

He dates the Pym Particle to 1949. With more than enough cash in his pocket, Steve purchases a bus ticket to a suburb in Maryland. 

Peggy lives in a quaint yellow house with a rose garden on the side of the porch. Tony would find it adorable because he spent the last few years in a house by the lake in Upper New York. The compound was just 100 miles east, but Steve never made the drive to the Stark house. Too much bloody pride, Peggy might say. 

So here he was, standing outside Peggy’s home. A man Steve knows to be Daniel Sousa answers the door. 

Sousa rolls his eyes. “Well, to say a hackneyed phrase, better late than never.” He offers Steve a hand, introduces himself, before hollering Peggy’s name. “I’ll just go chop some wood out back. Don’t gotta warn you, do I, Rogers?”

Peggy laughs all the while, eyebrow arched. She still wears bright red lipstick and carries the air of a woman who knows her worth. 

Sousa was a kind man. The reports said so. Tony recalled fond memories of Uncle Daniel and Aunt Peggy being a perfect, power couple. They complimented and balanced each other. 

“No sir.” Steve holds out a placating hand. “Just here to fulfill a promise.”

“One dance.” Daniel grunts and walks to his home office as Peggy pulls Steve for a dance. 

He has nostalgia for something that never was. 

Maybe this is what Bucky meant for Steve to learn something. He’s losing sight of his future, continually returning to past selves. Precisely, the dreams of his past, ideals and beliefs he no longer has the same attachment to. 

He doesn’t belong here. Peggy knows it too. She smiles at him softly as the song finishes. 

“You’ve always planned an assumed future, Steve.” His confusion must be evident because Peggy sighs and steps away. She pats him over the couch. “You don’t know what will happen. You have to live life in the humblest way. Have a good life, Steve Rogers.”

 _But I do._ Steve wants to tell her that she’ll have beautiful children, be a wonderful godparent to Tony, build up SHIELD, live an amazing, fulfilling life.

But that’s Peggy. In this time, he knows everyone’s future except his own. 

“You think that’s possible for me, Peggy?” He asks, voice shaking. He’ll return to his timeline. Not his “original” one in the 1940s. Steve has been irrevocably changed since waking up from ice. He’ll carry the experience of growing up in Brooklyn during the Depression, the canned tuna his mother spiced, the cobblestones of New York that have come and passed. 

But Steve belongs elsewhere now. He admits being afraid to return. A man in limbo. What’s waiting for him? Bucky and Sam who have their own lives, their own dreams. Steve has nothing but the dream to return to. 

A dream of a future. Yes, Peggy’s correct. A dream assumed. He doesn't even know what that is.

Steve leans forward and rubs a hand across his face. “I’m afraid to be alone. I’m so tired.” 

“Ever thought about putting the Captain America role into retirement, soldier?” 

He fidgets with his fringe. An old habit that seems to have re-appeared these past few weeks. Where’s that confident Captain, Sam asked jokingly one afternoon. That Captain doesn’t exist. Not really. He’s just a mirage conceived out of pressure from the SHIELD, from the world. A suit that Steve’s learned to put on. 

He’s embodied it. Forgetting that Captain America is just a role, an actor in a play called Life. 

It isn’t Steve.

Only it is.

Only, Steve himself doesn’t know if there’s a difference between the Brooklyn time-travelling kid to Captain America, defender of rights and American democracy. Should there be a difference? He doesn’t know. As fragmented as his self-identity is now, Steve’s mind wanders back to Tony. As always. The red-and-gold armor exists, but Tony’s still Iron Man without it. 

Tony gave him back the shield before the battle with Thanos. 

But Steve’s gone seven years without the stripes, the star, the shield. No longer Captain America, but a rogue, ungovernable soldier.

It doesn’t belong to him. Not anymore. 

It was his for a moment in time.

“I don’t think I’ll survive it.” What the hell was he if not Captain America? These days, he doesn’t remember anything past the snap, past almost losing Tony, grieving Nat, and all that he’s lost. Steve rocks back and forth, another old habit he’s only let Tony and Nat see. Now Peggy. 

“Then, that’s your next adventure. Go live your damn life. That’s an order, Steve.” She takes his hand, pulling him off the sofa. Steve goes willingly. 

* * *

Nebula told the team that Thanos murdered her estranged sister, Gamora, in Vormir. A barren site, dark mountains. It's a planet without a sun. It reminds Steve of himself. A planet orbiting without direction. It's got a soul. 

Steve steps forward, following Clint’s direction to the cliff. The site of Nat’s death. No. Sacrifice. 

Clint never recounted her fall into the abyss, possibly knowing he’d never do it justice. And there’s no use for men like them to narrate the frames of violence, the pauses in war. It’s a familiar song, sometimes even brought about by their own fists. Even if Steve’s knuckles heal shortly, there’s the familiar pang in every punch. 

Clint just nodded, one tear fell, shook his head. She’s gone. Nothing more. Steve didn’t need the details. But Tony did. 

Tony wondered out loud whether Clint tried to stop Nat. He pushed Clint. And Steve knew the unspoken words Tony bit back: _Why’d it have to be her?_

Steve sees her sometimes. Like a hallucination the weeks following the battle. She’d follow him around the hospital with a smirk on her lips. She’d watch Steve lurking outside Tony’s room, eavesdropping at Pepper and Dr. Cho’s conversations regarding Tony’s recovery. Steve’s tried to ignore her specter. But she keeps haunting him.

Steve imagines Nat saying something along the lines of _Well, stop moping. It’s unbecoming._ Or perhaps, Nat would roll her eyes and bark at him, Well, _it’s your fault that this happened._ But then, she’d hold Steve while he choked on his sobs. While Steve wiped his tears, while he wished for his guilt and regrets to evaporate quickly.

But Natasha is dead. 

Steve has to live with that. All of them have to live with her memory. He wonders if grief follows the rest of them–Clint, Thor, Bruce, Nebula, Carol. Tony. The list goes on. The wake of her death still reverberates deep in the pit of him. A tender wound, still fresh. Didn’t the serum promise fast healing?

Erskine and his scientists never mentioned anything about grief. They’re goddamn fools for not considering the ways in which loss and suffering cuts deeper than a gunshot to the chest.

He lies to himself, picturing that Natasha gave Clint a defeated smile when she pulled her hand and drifted down. 

She wouldn’t be scared of death, Steve tells himself. Natasha’s one of the bravest people in the universe. It takes courage and maybe, just a bit of recklessness to walk into the fire, fall down into the endless nothing. Or in Tony’s case, fly towards the darkest wormhole known to man.

The air in Vormir is still. Stale. It reminds Steve of hot summers growing up in Brooklyn. His mother would crack the windows open because they couldn't afford to install an air conditioning system into their brick building. It was a luxury afforded only by the wealthy of his time. Then, the air in their small but cozy apartment was always a little too warm. As if the bricks refused the cool night breeze to enter. In the future–no, his present–air conditioning systems are common to almost every household in the U.S. It still surprises him how much the future-present has advanced the world. A lot of it has to do with SI and Tony’s brilliance.

Steve recalls the Stark Tower. _The big ugly building_ became a running joke between him and Tony. 

“Well, now it’s our big ugly building. Don’t you see the _A_? It’s Avengers Tower. Can you bear to live in a big ugly building in the middle of New York, Steve?” Tony nudged his shoulders as they walked back from the corner deli with a heavy bag filled with Mr. Nam’s Vietnamese sandwiches. 

It was never ugly to Steve. It was ostentatious, sleek, futuristic like the man who designed it.

When it was just them living in the compound, Nat expressed preference for the Tower rather than the Compound. Sure, it was less distracting for training exercises and strategy meetings, but it almost meant they were remiss to New York itself. Of its trinkets, the sound of the cabbie screaming angrily at a pedestrian, the roar of the subway beneath their feet. Sandwiches down at the bodega. 

For a little while, the Tower was home. A subject of Steve’s drawings.

Tony gifted him several books on post-modern architecture as “education.” He had a shit-eating grin. He even slipped Steve a magazine lauding the Stark Tower as a genius design. 

It was lovely. Home in the way the Compound never was. 

In the years following the snap, the Compound was resident to two shadows, Nat and Steve. 

Here was Steve Rogers, returning to another ghost town. 

Vormir is dry and suffocating in all the ways the Tower never was. It looks like Martin’s Pandemonium, with its dreamy doom, its endless darkness that contour its cliffs and mountains. The grey sky is sliced with a path of warm red, pinks, and lavenders. Deserted with one punished man as a gatekeeper. It's the perfect metaphor for the entrance of hell. 

The Red Skull comes out from his hiding spot, slithering cape following. Tony would make a crack joke about the dramatics if he were here. 

Steve stays rooted to his spot. He knew this was coming, Clint warned about the planet’s single doorman. This trip is all about familiar faces, even unwelcomed ones. Steve hands over the soul stone, parting with the marmalade and gold that reminds him so much of the jam his mother made. 

The Red Skull’s hand clasps the stone, “A parting gift for a successful mission.” He says ominously. His voice booms with satisfaction, as if the statement was supposed to be a punch in the face.

Steve, still filled with distrust, glares at the Red Skull’s menacing face.

Then, the dark gray sky is awashed with a pale pink and dusty bronze backdrop, in a place where there is no beginning or end. The Red Skull disappears. The sky above and the space below is endless. There is only a ramshackled gazebo, a huge lemon tree, and the form of a woman standing below it.

It’s Natasha. With a smug nod, she beckons him forward. Steve, with the weight of what he’s seeing, utter shock, almost collapses. He walks slowly, inch by inch, afraid that a rapid movement might cause Natasha to disappear. 

_This isn’t real,_ he repeats to himself. 

“Nat?” He calls over. 

She arches an eyebrow, overcome with emotions, Steve doesn’t feel the tears drop from his face. “Well, who else did you expect to meet in this godforsaken place.”

Steve swallows a sob. A smile appears on the edge of his mouth, crooked, like a comma. “Is it really that bad here? You look at home.” And she does, peaceful, content in a way he rarely saw her when she was alive. “Is this really you?” He asks, confused and awed. If this was another hallucination, Steve will take it. For all the times he said the specter following him the past few weeks wasn’t real, he’s sort of grateful that she’s here now, in full. In the flesh, not just a segment, form, or a flash of red in the corner of his eyes. 

“It isn’t horrible, considering all the places I’ve been.” Natasha tilts a head in the way she usually does when thinking. “It is me. Who else would it be? Nice to see you’re finally paying attention though. Did you have to come all the way to Vormir to accept my presence?”

“You shouldn’t follow me. You should rest.”

“Like you’re doing?” She says pointedly. “And please, Rogers. If I didn’t want you to see me, you wouldn’t see me.”

“World class spy, I know.” Then, he replies as broken as he feels inside, “I can’t get you back.”

“I know. It’s okay. I don’t have to come back. I don’t want to…” She pauses, “I’m fine, Steve. Happy, even. To see we’ve won, together, even if I wasn’t there for the hardest part. I’m sorry about that.” Natasha floats forward until she’s a foot away. 

“No, don’t apologize. No, you have nothing to be sorry for. Losing you was the hardest part of the battle. I almost lost Tony, too.”

As easy as it begins, Steve recounts the battle, the aftermath, describes the state of the Compound, waiting by Tony’s side for weeks on end. He tells Nat about Morgan’s obsession with Pudding and she laughs at all the parts she’s supposed to. In exchange, Nat tells Steve of all the times she visited Tony for tea, for dinner, during Morgan’s birthdays.

She tells Steve of the time Morgan got mashed potatoes on Tony’s hair, of helping Tony put Morgan to bed. Natasha describes their nightly routine and how Tony is adamant in giving Morgan her freedom. How he talks to her like an adult, is careful with her, but also strict when necessary. Steve always knew Tony would be an amazing father.

“I’m sorry I never told you.” Natasha hesitates, choosing her next words carefully. “I thought it would have hurt too much. And you were already hurting. To see him happy. Without you. He moved on, unlike us. He made do, Steve. He’s done good. I’m happy for him.” 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.” Steve shakes his head.

Yeah, he would have been jealous of Tony, only because Steve’s at a loss of how one gets to have a family, find joy in life, when there’s so much to grieve. So much loss and violence. 

“What are you gonna do now?” Natasha chews on her trembling lips. 

Steve shrugs, “Dunno. Get a life, I suppose.” He looks over at Natasha, smiling at the overworked joke between them. The last time was in the Compound as Steve returned from group therapy. “That’s what I’ve been advised to do. You think I can do that now? Don’t have a clue of how to start though.”

Nat shifts, and then she changes in a blink. She’s in her classic Black Widow suit now, much like the suit from the early days. A suit Tony made for her after the wormhole. Nat gives him a sympathetic look, eyes glassy. “I wanted that once. But it seems like there’s no moving on if we don’t try. We trapped ourselves in a mausoleum wishing for the dead to come back. You shouldn’t do that to yourself, Steve. Take it from me.”

“Then, what?” He asks, completely lost. The lemon tree stares at him around the short distance. Walking towards it with Natasha, he points to the red hummingbird feeder, “This is from the tower isn’t it?”

“The soulworld shows you what you seek, even if you don’t know it.”

“So what,” he barks an angry laugh, too cruel and jaded. She doesn’t deserve the brunt of his frustration, but it doesn’t stop him from demanding answers. “I want a fucking humming bird feeder? I come all this way for that.”

She glances at him with pity. Natasha always looked at him that way when he was alive. When she returned to the Compound from a visit to Tony’s cabin. Godmother of the year to Morgan Stark. Steve would ask how it went and she’d give the sparse answers that endlessly pestered him. 

“You know it’s more than that. We’re at the tower. You’re home.”

“I don’t have a home.” He sounds petulant, like a child. 

“Make one.” She says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. As if living and getting up in the morning isn’t hard enough. “There’s your new mission objective: build one.”

“I don’t know how.” He admits uneasily. It’s like the only things his body knows how to do is destroy things. Isn’t that what soldiers are made for? Fight the wars of men suffering from the lure of control?

“I have a place by a river. A dilapidated safe house in Lake Tahoe. You can start there. It needs work. Burn it down for me, will you? Build a new house for yourself. Get a sun room where you can paint the river. You’ll have to find someone to supply you paint. You can chop wood in the morning. It’s quiet. I’m fond of my neighbor when he’s around.” Then, with a grin and twinkling eyes, she says, “You’ll like him.” 

Steve sighs as he drops under the lemon tree. They had the replica on the Tower’s roof. Or rather, this is the replica. Tony purchased the tree from a vendor in Flushing, brought it to the roof in his Iron Man suit. He never tended to it, leaving the task to Steve.

Until one afternoon, they sat side by side, cross legged on the rooftop, watching the gust of spring wind ruffle the tree.

“I never did get that bird feeder.” Rubbing his fingers on his temple, he watches as Natasha perches beside him. 

Natasha holds his gaze. A pause, and then, as if she’s debating whether to tell him, she bites his lip. “Yeah, you did.”

Steve insists, “I didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did. Tony placed it on the branch you loved to draw the next day. You left in the morning to D.C. and well, we know what happens after.” 

“Well, fuck. My life is a never ending missed connection.”

Natasha hums. “Yeah. You should buy one when you finally make it to my old place.”

“I’m not going to your safehouse.”

“Why? You don’t have anything else,” She protests, the blunt statement only softened by the fact that Natasha nudges Steve’s side. 

Steve hurts all over. He’s barely keeping it together. He’s wiped his eyes over ten times in the last five minutes, or what seems like a few minutes. It feels like hours since he’s been talking to Natasha. “I’ve missed you. I didn’t know missing someone was like grief.”

She snorts. “Yeah, you did. Remember how you were with Tony?” 

“No,” Steve denies flatly. Life after Siberia was like living with a missing limb. He doesn’t know how Bucky does it. 

“Well, you never did stop mourning.” She presses closer to Steve, resting her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t apologize for shaking her. Steve didn’t try to contain the sobs that escaped him. “I’m better because of you. Tony. Clint. My family. Be better, Steve. You owe me that.”

Steve sits, readjusts himself to lean back against the bark. Natasha follows him, head still resting on the top of his shoulders. He feels her weight. She’s solid, real, very much alive. He wonders whether this moment is a distorted blessing, a pity from the universe, rather than a curse. He’ll carry this moment, meeting her again. 

“Stop. You’re getting mauldin on me. It’s boring.” Natasha slaps his shoulders. “Tell me something funny.”

“I’m not the funny one. That’s Tony.”

“Tony isn’t funny. He’s a sarcastic shit, and you don’t have a better comeback, so you just laugh.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re too observant for your own good.”

“It came with the job.” She shrugs. Steve catches the past tense in her words, feeling his heart twitch again. Is it a common occurrence for someone to feel like their heart weighs like a helicarrier? He’s serum-enhanced and can carry three tanks on his back. But Steve struggles with heaviness in his chest. 

Instead of the internal war within him, Steve directs his energy for Natasha’s request. He tells her about Tony’s condition, and talks about how Bucky is attending therapy. She asks about Wanda, who’s grieving Vision, walking around Manhattan with lifeless eyes. He tells her about the new Avengers taking off the ground, the congressional talks of nation-state building, of new world leaders. And Steve? Steve’s just tired of it all. He hasn’t taken a break since waking up from ice, launching himself in mission after mission. Chasing the adrenaline to stop himself from thinking too much about all the people he’s lost. 

Like always, he confesses all of this to Natasha, who nods in all the right places, hums, and offers rational advice. 

“I suppose I should go," he says after a while. It would be nice to stay here. Whatever this place is. But Steve knows it’s not right, this place isn’t for him. At least not yet. 

“I’ll be there as back up. Watch your six. I’ll be there when needed.”

Steve stands, opens his arms for her to go under. Natasha holds him tight. He feels her here, flesh and blood.

“It’s okay. Let it go.” Nat wears the same heart-breaking smile she gave him in the Compound’s platform just weeks ago. It feels like a lifetime since he’s seen the same openness in her expression. When she follows him, she’s always too snarky, too sarcastic, as if Steve’s mind cannot fully grasp and recreate the memory of her. He fails, of course he does, memory is a liar. “See you in a minute.”

But here, in Vormir, is an instant of truth, not a replication of Nat from Steve’s recollection. 

“See you in a minute,” Steve repeats, whispers with tenderness. Then before he can make a deal with the Red Skull and bargain with the universe, Steve turns, spares Nat, the ghost of her, one more look, before pressing the GPS device on his wrist.

When Steve appears on the platform, less than five minutes later, to the present, Sam and Bucky catch him as he stumbles off to the nearest tree.

He heaves, stuttering and falling over jumbled words. Steve’s mind feels cloudy, like he was waking up from ice all over again. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, and any attempts made by Bucky to gather Steve and pull him into a hug were blocked and dismissed by Sam.

“Let him be,” Sam says. Then whispers, “He’s having a panic attack. Let him ride it out.” 

He can’t see Bucky nod, but Steve assumes that’s what happens. Steve coughs harshly, spits, then rests his forehead to the tree. Attempting to get his bearings, he inhales, exhales, then slumps over. 

“Damn, you look like shit, man," Bruce says when Steve finally leaves his post, not knowing how much time has passed since he vomited for the second time. 

He’s always losing his sense of time. At least that’s constant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
> My working week and my Sunday rest,  
> My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
> I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong."  
> -Funeral Blues, W. H. Auden

Steve arrives at Lake Tahoe sometime in the late afternoon. The drive into town was quiet with only a cassette tape to accompany him when the radio was out of range. 

The cabin is located on the edge of town called Lover’s Lane. Natasha’s property, according to her will, is three acres of barren land. Tony used to go on and on about global warming, making the joke that Steve was only found because all the ice had melted in the Arctic. 

Natasha wasn’t exaggerating when she mentioned the house as just a step above a set of wood mashed together. The safehouse is a derelict cabin that faces a clear blue lake. It’s still and calm, reminding Steve that he’s here all alone. There isn’t a house for another ten mile radius. Well, other than what lies across the lake. There’s a humble sized rustic home with its porch facing the lake. Sadly, it doesn’t look to be occupied, so Steve can’t play the role of a friendly neighbor. 

The irony is that in Steve’s trek for peace and connection, he’s isolated himself from the world.

Perhaps, this was needed though. It’s the only thing that feels right. 

Steve enters the cabin to an open-space studio. It’s empty of any furnishing other than a dust-covered bed and a small, round table and a single chair by the windowsill. The light filters through the giant kitchen windows. Steve, with his enhanced eyesight, catches specks of dust floating through the house. 

There’s a set of books on the kitchen counter of varying themes, from Russian literature to German philosophy to a romance novel. Steve picks them up, examines them closely, flips the pages with special attention to Natasha’s notes neatly scrawled in the margins. He smiles at her careful handwriting. She was always meticulous to the point of irritation and her cautiousness reminds Steve of his own recklessness. Maybe if he was more thoughtful like her, well, he wouldn’t be here, alone. 

There’s a set of dried dishes in the rack, a chipped teacup, and a stack of beans along with expired canned goods in the pantry. They were nine years off the expiry date, meaning it’s been a long while since Natasha last occupied the space. The rest of the house is spartan with the bathroom reeking of mildew, the ceilings a constellation of green-gray mold.

He sighs, oddly finding the whole thing comforting. Natasha didn’t have it all together, she let the little cabin grow musty, allowing the dust to settle. 

Then again, this wasn’t her home. Just a pit stop.

Back in the living space, Steve collapses on the rickety mattress. He was too tall to fully fit. Legs dangling off the bed, he examines the ceiling once more. 

“Well, I’m here,” He says to no one in particular. “Alone with my thoughts. What the fuck am I supposed to do here?” He rubs a hand across his face, then over his hair in frustration. Steve drifts in and out of sleep until late in the evening. He always has trouble falling asleep in a new environment. 

Since it’s nearly midnight when he rises, he decides to shower, unsurprised when the water is lukewarm. He digs a towel from his suitcase and changes into a set of worn sweatpants. 

Here’s the thing with Steve: he’s always much more functional with a set goal planned. He pulls out a notebook, a pen, and begins his list. Groceries. A tent. Sleeping bag. A shovel. Wood. Plans, he needs plans for the house. Some sort of feeling takes over as Steve begins to sketch a house, imagining something comfortable, cozy, big enough for a nuclear family. Steve realizes he’s excited and not just waiting to die.

As per Natasha’s suggestion, he begins with the sun room to overlook the lake. 

He has no goddamn idea how to build a house, but he’s armed with a rough sketch, every bit of stubbornness known to man, and the plan for a deep, hot rod colored door and blue shutters. One step at a time, he breathes, allowing inspiration to lead his design.

By early morning, Steve has a plain side porch and a small office on the left side of the house. It’s an idea for now, but it’s on paper, so Steve has to do it for his own peace of mind. Hungry, he takes the truck to the nearest town with a diner, orders a large breakfast, and mentally prepares himself for the day.

Steve begins with a simple task: go to the hardware store and pick up the most essential tools. He chats up the owner, Augusto, a foreman who relays his experience in constructing homes. 

“It’s gruesome labor to try to build a home all by yourself, mate.” The older man shakes his head at Steve wistfully.

“All I’ve got is time.” Steve tells him the truth. “Besides, an old friend says I need a hobby. Figured building something for once would do me some good.” 

Steve leaves the shop with three books on the basics of home building, notes, and the man’s phone number. He isn’t recognized as Captain America, just a man hoping to make something for himself. Steve spends the following days reading up on construction and sketching his designs. He’s only got a graphite pencil and a battered sketchbook, but it’s fine. It’s all fine and dandy. He sleeps for over eight hours and lies in bed with his thoughts for hours in the morning, mind drifting to the battle, to Vormir, to Tony’s hospital room.

He feels like shit and most days, he doesn’t want to get up. Sometimes he just wants to wither away, but then, he looks at Natasha’s chipped teacup and feels guilty. He made a promise. Isolation isn’t doing Steve any good, but he forces himself to have lunch at the diner, Mango House, and makes friends with the waitress. She serves him black coffee which Steve adds two sugars to and savors. He stays in the diner for hours, ordering tea and pastries, sketching and writing in a journal. 

Sam’s been sending him articles on PTSD, pestering Steve to come back to the East Coast for a visit, despite that it’s only been weeks since Steve left the city. But taking Sam’s advice, Steve’s compelling himself to write whatever thoughts he has in the journal. He writes about his vague dreams, Natasha in Vormir, flashes of red that he sees throughout his days, a ghost figure following him in the lake. 

He sketches Tony, mostly. From memory, he traces the lines on Tony’s face after the wormhole, after not seeing Tony for five regretful years, and then the moment when Tony showed up at the Compound. Tony is flying in battle with Rescue on his tail. Of Tony in the hospital room, asleep, looking like a million miles from Steve. 

Without guilt, Steve imagines Tony in the lake house, in its ramshackle glory, to how Steve pictures it to be: a garden of lilies out in the back and a canoe in the docks. The lilies would grow wildly on the side of the house and serve as a path to the lake. It would dovetail with the properties leading to the beach in the northside shore. 

Steve goes upon his day, reading, writing, planning. It’s enough. 

But here’s the thing, he’s yearning in the meantime.

There’s a song Sam showed him when they were on the run: _I think of the things we used to do. And my whole world turns misty blue._

It’s a song Sam’s grandmother loved to listen to especially when his grandfather passed away. It’s a song after Steve’s time, when there came more opportunities for non-white American singers and artists to perform and make music. 

He missed a whole generation of artists after the second World War. An entire era of music and film. Tony volunteered to screen films with Steve. Yes, the man loved gritty blockbuster movies with explosions–it’s probably where Tony gets his dramatic entrance inspiration from. But then, Tony selected films _Battle of Algiers_ and _Persona._ Tony was well-read on film theory, apparently due to the time he was a teenager and wanted to seem cooler than he actually was. Though, Steve knows, despite the misgivings, Tony drew inspiration from old-timey sci-fi, fantasy art pieces in his work.

Tony introduced him to the blues, then rock, and Americana. Steve loved the blues the best though. The sound reminded him of the music his own mother used to play in their small Brooklyn apartment. It was a thread from the past, even if different. 

_Misty Blue. Misty Blue._

The next day, Steve packs the stack of books, the dishes, and moves the mattress to the truck’s bed. It’ll serve as his little camp while the house is under construction.

He begins the process of breaking down the walls. From the wee hours of the morning, he takes his fists and strips the ceiling. It’s irresponsible, but it’s his best tool. It seems like these days, only things Steve can believe in are things he can hold with his bare hands. It’s hard labor, especially under the sun. If he did this backbreaking job before the serum, he’d probably collapse after five minutes. 

But with the serum, Steve works from early in the morning to late in the evening. He’s taken to getting lunch and dinner at the diner for breaks. Because, well, he doesn’t have a functional kitchen and there’s no electricity in the cabin. Yet. It’s all in the plans, he reminds himself. 

Homebuilding, in short, is a bitch. But it's deeply calming for Steve. He gets up early in the morning, swims in the lake, because why not, he's all alone and no one is there to sneak a peek. He towels off, changes into jeans and boots, then sits cross-legged on the grass with his housing plans. By mid-morning, he's lying down the concrete and debating whether he'd prefer bamboo or oak flooring. Some days, Steve spends hours at the hard work shop debating what type of windows he should install with the owner of the hardware store, Augusto and his kid, Angel. 

The kid is younger than Peter Parker but more boisterous. Steve finds him amusing and takes him to lunch sometimes. 

And so his days go quick with the routine. Steve puts in half the day with building the foundations of his little lake house. With the serum, he’s able to exert more energy than the average man. He doesn’t even break a sweat hammering the nails and installing the roofing. It’s all movement. Steve doesn’t have time to think the way he loses himself hitting a punching bag. Rebuilding is all about moving his limbs, using his body as an instrument of construction. 

Steve enjoys the sun on his back. Even if there’s no one there to tell him about all the freckles he’s acquired, Steve knows they're there. 

Some days, he wonders what Tony would think of the constellations of dots across his trapezius.

In the evenings, after dinner, Steves sits in his little makeshift camp because the foundations of the house aren't up yet. But California is all warm, with mild winters and he spends several evenings watching the stars when he can’t sleep. Unlike the nights in New York City, Lake Tahoe was free of pollution, letting the stars shine brightly. Sometimes, Steve imagines, they twinkle just for him. There’s no one else in the vicinity to share the sight with. He twitches to paint the sky and all its faults. He wonders how stars can orbit around each other for years and years and never touch. 

Steve still has bad days and nights where he can’t fall asleep, and when the stars don’t give him comfort, he turns on the oil lamp and reads Natasha’s old books. Sometimes, he dips his feet on the lake and watches birds interrupt the stillness of water.

But it’s fine, it’s all fine, and he’s fine. And he’s doing something with his life. That’s all that matters. The emptiness inside him can be ignored and if his thoughts continue to drift and drift to Tony, then that’s just business as usual. Steve drifts and drifts, like a leaf on the lake.

He isn’t automatically good at building. There are days when Steve’s distracted by memories of coming out of ice and of Tony collapsing in the battleground. More than once, he’s messed up the siding and had spent two days reconstructing a wall and a window frame. He learns patience in framing the exterior walls, smiling to himself when the house is finally looking like a house, not a mash of wood slapped together. 

And that’s how Sam and Bucky find him, trying to deal with the insulation and drywall.

“Well, I was right. You took all the stupid with you.” Bucky eyes the house fondly. “And here I thought you were Brooklyn-raised. This house is too big for one, Stevie. You planning to start a family after retirement?”

“Shut up, Bucky.” Sam pulls Steve into a hug. “It’s been too long, man. Missed you.”

Steve shares the sentiment, but he struggles with saying it, so he just smiles and nods and leads them into the foyer of the house. He gives them a tour, telling them how Angel and Augusto are helping with the draining and water lines. It would have been a bitch, Augusto said, if Steve's non-existent neighbor didn't already have the drainage and plumbing connected from the town.

“It’s looking pretty damn good, bud. You did all this in five months? By yourself?” Sam whistles, impressed. 

Steve shrugs. “Helps to have eidetic memory, I guess. And the serum, of course, allows me to put in the work.”

“Well, you look good, man.” Sam observes him from head to toe. It’s a little irritating when Sam tries to gauge Steve’s mental state. 

“Yeah, sporting that beard again, huh?” Bucky rubs his own stubbled chin. “You must be missin’ Tony.”

Sam punches Bucky on the shoulder playfully. “Stop teasing him, Barnes.”

“You’re just jealous you can’t grow a beard, Wilson,” Bucky replies.

Steve rolls his eyes at their antics and herds them to his favorite diner for lunch.

Over coffee, Sam and Bucky update him on the new training facility that just opened for the Avengers. Courtesy of Tony, via Pepper, of course. 

“So yeah, get this, Steve! Carol and Rhodey, they’re together. As in they’re running the New Avengers together but also planning to get married. Like what? It was a surprise.” Sam sips on his drink and shrugs. “I guess that’s what people do after surviving an apocalypse. No more waiting.”

“They kick ass in the field.” Bucky nods, side-eying Sam. 

“What did Peter call them? A power couple.” Sam grins. “Funny enough, the media used to say the same thing about you and Tony right?”

“Tony and I were never together,” Steve bites out, feeling defensive. 

“Eh, that’s not what they meant, man. It was more about how you worked together as a team.” Sam shakes his head. “Lemme guess, you still have some unresolved feelings about Tony?” 

Steve tries to restrain himself from dumping the plate of fries over Sam’s head. 

Instead, Bucky bumps Sam in an attempt to reach for the former's fries. “Leave him, Wilson. ‘Course he’s still sweet on Stark. The beard says it all. The man is building a house. That’s gotta say something about Stevie’s state of mind.”

Steve tries to simmer down the spark of irritation at them for talking as if he wasn’t there. “How is Tony?” 

Sam and Bucky look at each other as if expecting the question. Sam clears his throat. “Good, actually. You know he’s not part of the Avengers anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.”

Steve nods, the movement feeling forced, “Yeah.”

Tony joined them in the time heist and in battle, and look what happened–he lost an arm and almost widowed his wife. 

“A lot of the new recruits still see him as a leader though.” 

“Like with you.” Bucky interrupts and looks at Steve pointedly. It’s a sore spot. Bucky didn’t want him to move across the country, but he also understands, if not, resigned to Steve’s decision. 

Sam continues, “He’s consulting for the most part. Threw himself in the reconstruction of both the facility and the government.”

“The Accords?” Steve asks. 

“Nah. I’m not entirely sure of the details. It’s above my pay grade. If you have specific questions, direct them to Carol or Stark.” Sam replies. 

“Stark’s got a fancy new arm, too.” Bucky flexes his left hand, an attempt at humoring Steve. “Always knew he was jealous of this bad boy.”

“Stark’s is much _cooler_ than yours, Barnes.” Sam turns to Steve and whispers, “According to Peter, Stark’s trying to upgrade it with some sort of repulsor tech.” 

Bucky snorts. “The kid is just pulling your leg, mate.” 

Steve smiles because he doesn’t know what to do when he’s overwhelmed. So he stays quiet as Sam and Bucky interrupt each other through their storytelling process. It reminds him of the way he and Tony bicker, egging each other on, too stubborn to back down, but all in good fun. 

Peter Parker resumed school in Midtown, while Carol, Wanda, Rhodes, Sam, and Bucky use the new facility as their headquarters. Apparently, they see Tony often, who can’t seem to stop working on new upgrades for the team, the government reconstruction, and his new arm.

Steve smiles through it all and feels a little left out. He’s alone. For what? Why the fuck did he even move across the country? He shakes his head and refocuses on Sam’s story about Carol’s leadership and team building exercises. 

They migrate back to the lake house and spend the rest of the afternoon helping Steve with setting up the flooring. With three superheros, the job was easily done. 

“Well, I’m not sleeping in your little camp here, Steve. Sorry, it reminds me too much of my days in the army.” Sam looks at Steve’s set up outside the house: a large tent with two duffle bags of clothes and notebooks. It serves him well only because Steve doesn’t need much amenities. It’s temporary, too. 

When Sam drives back to their motel, Bucky goes along, watching Sam’s retreating back with a fond smile. 

“Well, I’ll see ya tomorrow, punk. Sam and I booked the motel for the week.” He pulls Steve into a hug.

Steve, for his part, returns it with a longing he doesn’t understand. Not for Bucky, no, but for the companionship. “Sam, huh?” Steve asks with a grin, happy for Bucky.

“Shit happens.” Bucky deadpans, running over when Sam begins to honk his car. “You just gotta go with it, Stevie.” 

Sam and Bucky return the next day, spending the week assisting Steve with installing the rest of the kitchen countertops and painting the master bedroom’s balcony railings. It oversees the lake much like all the windows around the house were set up to do.

Before they fly back to New York, Sam pulls Steve aside. “I’m proud of you, man.”

Confused, Steve continues to stare, unsure of what he’s done in his life that deserves pride. America is indebted to Captain America and carries his image with dignity, but Steve’s just a man. 

Sam shakes his head. “For not falling off the wagon, man. No self-pity or doubt. You just did this.” He gestures to the house. “You did something. That’s how you heal.”

Steve doesn't have the guts to tell Sam that all he’s doing is swallowing his guilt in the hopes that the serum catches up and heals the chronic pressure on his chest.

* * *

Three months later marks the beginning of summer. Like the prologue of all things, a familiar face greets him.

“We came to see what all the fuss was about,” Pepper admits. She carries the air of authority like a second skin. Pepper walks over in flats, not bothering to side step the rocky stones in her way. She observes the house in near completion. “Tony always did like the color blue.”

On the very first day, Steve decided on the cobalt blue shutters and roofing. The exterior of the house was pale white, an almost eggshell color accented by pale blue linings. It worked nicely, especially at dusk, when the sunset reflected across the lake. It was all coming together. That was better than one can say about his life. At least he’ll have a house. He’ll try like hell to make it a home.

“I always thought he was partial to red and gold,” Steve says.

“No, blue’s his favorite.” Pepper stares at him for a beat longer. “You didn’t know?” 

“And I wanted to see Captain America again.” Morgan chimes beside Pepper. She let go of her mother’s hand, and looked up at Steve.

Her eyes are heartbreakingly familiar. “I’m no longer Captain America, dear. Do you remember Sam? He’s gonna be Captain America now.”

“I know Sam. I like Sam. Daddy made him wings.” She gestures to be picked up. Steve’s just a man who’s not had contact in what feels like forever. With a quick nod from Pepper, he obliges. 

“Where’s your dad?” Steve asks, leading Pepper into his barely finished living room. Thank god he finished the insulation and countertops. The ceiling beams were finally secure.

Steve grimaces. Despite all the work put into the house these past few months. It still isn’t fit for company. At least, not yet. He needs furniture, but shopping for a house with one resident is a daunting task. Plus, it reminds him that he needs a new mission objective after the house is complete. Purpose will allow him to get up in the mornings. 

Steve brings them over to the backyard and sits them down the veranda to oversee the glistening lake. _Misty blues, misty blues, indeed._

It’s the only set of tables and chairs he has in the house.

It’s a long way from being complete. He wants to polish the wooden floors and install a side trellis for vines to grow in. Steve puts Morgan down, but she refuses the chair and instead climbs onto Steve’s lap. 

“Pudding.” She reaches up to rub his beard. Steve wonders if she does the same to Tony’s goatee. 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “I’m sorry dear, but I’ve got no pudding here.”

“No, you’re pudding.” With that, she climbs off, grabs a Stark Pad from her mother’s purse, and sits by the steps. Steve sees her open a digital canvas and begins to scribble. 

“A swing set would be nice around there.” Pepper points at the oak tree nearby. It was unruly, leaves pestering the ground in a mix of greens. “Or you can put one here. It'd be a nice place to read. Or draw. Tony was the one that wanted to move upstate, did you know that? I was born and raised in Manhattan, I didn’t want to leave. But I figured, it’s only a 40 minute drive into the city, I’ll get work done and take phone calls on the road. The whole lake house? The design? The blue canoe on the docks? That’s all Tony.” She offers him a jaded smile. “When he came back from space, he said he was tired. You remember that, don’t you? I figured, once we were expecting Morgan, okay, I’ll bite. But the lake house, it was always his dream.” 

It was the most Pepper’s ever said to him. Steve pauses, tries to digest what she’s said, but doesn’t get anything, and suddenly, he’s nervous.

Pepper’s come here for a reason. Steve can’t fathom why she’d make the trip from Upstate New York all the way to California. “Did something happen? To Tony?” He asks, alarmed. Steve receives updates from Carol and Sam regarding the team, but he hasn’t spoken to Tony since his return from Vormir. He didn’t know if he was allowed. Steve is still too raw, still in the wake of his sorrow to seek Tony. 

The decision to leave the Avengers, let a new group of superheros take the lead in protecting the Earth, the universe really, came as an easy decision for him. Carol’s more than qualified to train the New Avengers and rebuild whatever was left from the war’s ashes. 

Yet, there were days that Steve doubted his decision, questioning whether he was needed. Or if being needed was all he was worth. 

All he had to offer.

Pepper looks over at Morgan, then examines the rest of the house’s structure. He had a long way to go. Steve’s only finished setting the foundations–gravel paved, walls constructed. He wanted bamboo floorings and an open kitchen-living room inspired by his time in Wakanda.

He rubs a hand over his face, even though he shouldn’t. His hands were probably grimy with paint and plaster. 

“How many rooms are you planning?” Pepper asks. 

Steve is startled from his reverie. “Uh. Excuse me?”

“How many rooms? I suggest at least three. You’ve already done the flooring, so I doubt there’s a space for a basement. But you should consider an added-garage.” 

Steve eyes her in confusion. The advice was welcomed. Pepper had experience in remodeling and decorating her many homes. But Steve, for the life of him, could not understand why she was offering her thoughts on something as banal as housing plans. 

“I’ll consider it,” He says, slowly. “Though, I think I’ll be fine with the small shed.” He gestures to the side of the house. It’s his little workshop, in fact, with all the time he’s put into the house, woodwork was the next obvious step.

“Well,” She huffs, clearly amused, a small self-deprecating smile on her lips. It reminds Steve of Tony. And he wonders if this is a thing couples did—embody and mimic each other subtly and with finesse. “Where do you plan on building the workshop?”

“The workshop?” 

Pepper nods, crossing her legs and leaning back. A serious expression on her face. “Yes. Tony’s workshop.”

“What?” He makes the move to stand, then abruptly sits back down. Steve always had a better time thinking when he moved. “Pepper, I’m confused.”

She sighs, grabbing her hair and pushing it back. Uncrosses her legs. Crosses them again. 

A pregnant pause.

Then suddenly, Morgan is laughing and cooing at the birds, disrupting their stand-off. Pepper smiles at her daughter, then turns back to Steve. 

He can’t help but feel a bit stressed. 

“Tony and I are getting a divorce.” Pepper says it easily, like a fact, as if the sun always rises, the moon always returns. But her eyes water. Pepper’s never cried in front of Steve before, not even when Tony was in the hospital. All her trips to get air down the hospital gardens might have been the place she expressed her grief.

Steve became familiar with the monotonous walls outside Tony’s hospital room.

A single teardrop falls. Then, like a house of cards, the straight rigid planes of her face crumble. 

Steve holds back _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, are you OK?_ and the platitudes he’ll know that are useless at the moment. But he says it anyway, “Pepper, I’m so sorry.”

Pepper shakes her head. “No, it was only a matter of time.” She gives him a forced grin. “I knew I only had Tony for a moment. Just sometime. It’s something I’ve known the entire time I've been with Tony.”

Steve bites his bottom lip. The statement resonates. Always, always. In the battlefield, in the Tower, across the lake and through the ocean, years apart. It always seemed like Tony’s a fleeting shadow. Only there for a moment. And Steve loses him, over and over again.

This is what love must feel like. 

He wouldn’t know. Not really. 

It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. 

But it is what it is.

Steve pats his pockets, offering Pepper a handkerchief. She takes it with a laugh. “Tony said you always carried one with you. I thought he was being dramatic.”

“Is that what he said?” Steve twitches. Tony used to make fun of him for it. It took Steve months to realize Tony was just teasing. That’s the thing with a defensive, broken man–any action has Steve on edge, ready for battle. 

“He talks about you a lot,” She admits, pausing, looking back at Morgan moving towards the oak tree. “It would really be lovely if you built her a swing there.” She turns back to Steve, no more tears, all business now. “Did Tony ever tell you about my father? He never stopped loving my mom. He didn’t wake up one day and decide that he was better off. But they weren’t happy. Not for a long time. They just lived together, loved each other. You’d think that’s what marriage is. And in some parts, it is– _partnership_ , choosing to be together every day because you love each other enough.” 

Pepper takes a deep breath. It grounds Steve to do the same, realizing he’s been holding his own, at the edge of his seat. He had no idea why Pepper made the trip to see him. Yeah, Tony might not have told him, because what does Steve’s opinion matter in the realm of things? He’s irrelevant. Just a nowhere man, trying to make a home. He doesn’t want to be a nomad anymore, drifting from country to country, wishing to be helpful, to be useful. 

She continues, “But that isn’t what being happy is. Nor is it how I imagine love to be. I’m not a romantic, not by a long shot. After seeing my parents, I didn’t think love was possible. Partnership, yes. I mean _for fuck’s sake._ I worked for Tony, then I became his boss. We _worked._ And we _could_.” She takes another deep breath. Her left hand draws a calming pattern against her chest. She still wears the huge, fine-cut diamond ring, the same one Steve watched her twist and turn in the hospital room. “But…I don’t want Tony to love me just enough to stay. Not when he could have a life where he loves and is loved in the way he wants to be. And _me_ –I deserve to be loved in the way I want. I know what I deserve.”

“And he can’t give you that?” The question comes out as a harsh reprimand. He wants to tell Pepper she’s making a mistake. She’ll break Tony’s heart. How do they plan to raise a child without being together? Surely, Pepper must have thought of that. “What about–what about the life you’ve built together? Your family? You want Morgan to grow up without both of her parents? Tony, wouldn’t stand for that," he says harshly, irritated at Pepper’s rationale. 

“You don’t know a fucking thing. You’re a stupid, stupid man, Steve Rogers.” She says it as a fact. It doesn’t sound vulgar coming for Pepper, just the truth. “Tony’s parents were together and they weren’t happy. Tony wasn’t happy. I’m doing this for my kid. So she doesn’t have to ask me one day why our marriage is devastating me. And…” She tampers off, eyes returning to Morgan once more. “Who said she’d grow up without both of her parents? Tony and I will be fine. As always.” She says it with conviction that Steve knows Tony must admire. Because, hell, Steve was in awe at her determination to _leave._ To depart from love. 

He couldn’t do it, too selfish once he’s had something that’s solely his.

Pepper shakes her head, tears returning. “I love Tony, and he will _always_ love me,” she whispers, and Steve knows that’s the truth. Even when Pepper and Tony broke up years ago, Tony always spoke of her fondly, blaming the demise of their relationship upon himself. Steve told Tony time and time again that it wasn’t his fault, no matter how much Tony himself believed it. “That means we’re family, bound together for the rest of our lives because we have a kid together. But staying for Morgan isn’t enough. Not when I know he’s not truly mine. But that’s the thing, isn’t it, Steve? He doesn’t belong to anyone. Tony is Tony’s alone.”

She’s crying again.

Steve is helpless but to watch her eyes close. And his heart goes out to her. Because he feels it too. 

Differently. He’s selfish and self-absorbed enough to feel what Pepper feels, even if their hearts break dissimilarly. It’s for the same man. 

They lose him over and over again.

“I said, ‘Stay here.’ Do you remember that, Steve?” 

Steve nods. Recalling the ship touched down the Compound’s lawn like it was yesterday. Tony limping slowly down the landing. Steve ran to him, super speed allowing him to reach Tony in an instant. 

Two years without a single word, a single letter exchanged. The guilt of Steve’s failure, his betrayal, his disloyalty haunts him in the way abandoned dreams do–always in the back of someone’s mind, under his fingertips, following him through every decision.

He ran to Tony without regard. Only thinking, _Tony, Tony, Tony’s alive. Barely. Shit. Tony._

Steve remembered grabbing onto him, pulling Tony’s weight to himself. His wild, frightened eyes as he asked for Pepper. 

She appeared. She ran towards Tony, not away.

And now–

Yes. Steve remembers, repeating Tony’s promise: “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“And because he loves me, he won’t. He doesn’t break promises,” she says adamantly, a line appearing under her brows. Pepper opens her eyes. “I won’t be like my parents. I won’t stay. I won’t ask him to love me better. I’m making this decision because I love him. I love us. I love our daughter. I don’t want her to grow up in a household where two lonely people try to stay together because that’s all they have.” She says the words like a practiced mantra, and it comes as a shock to Steve to realize that in fact, she may have said a version of this to Tony. “We’ve done that too long.”

At a loss for words, Steve stands, then drops to his knees. Grabbing her hands, he watches the streaks of tears fall from her face. Pepper offers what can only be described as a defeated smile. 

She continues, “Besides, there’s always you.” 

“Me?” Steve asks, dumbfounded. “Pepper… I’m sorry.” He croaks. 

_You can’t hide love and you shouldn’t,_ an insistent voice rings in his head. _Don’t do yourself that disservice. You’ve done that too long, and look what happened._

On the verge of panic, Steve attempts to smooth any assumptions. Because, fuck, Steve’s come to terms that Tony’s a star out of his orbit. “I never–I’m–I don’t want to get in between you and Tony.” 

Pepper exhales. “Steve. This was never about you. It’s about _his love._ It always has been. Do you understand that? And this is about my love for _him._ ”

She’s right, as always, Tony warned him a determined Pepper knows no bounds. She probably knew before Steve did, perhaps, Pepper’s known for years that— 

“But why… if you love him, then why?” His hands are shaking so Steve closes his hands over Pepper. “Why leave? You could be happy. Aren’t you happy? I don’t understand. Why would you give all of that up?” 

He doesn't understand how Pepper can let go of happiness, of her family. Of Tony. Growing up poor, he was taught to share, but when Steve had something just for himself, he was determined to keep it, hold it tight in his fists, not let go.

“Of course, I am. People who love each other aren’t always together.” She blinks down at Steve, eyes misty. Misty blue. Misty blue. Misty blue. Like the river beside his house. He’ll think of her each time. “I’ve been with Tony for a long time, Steve. But he was never mine. And I’m choosing this. I get to decide.”

“We don’t get to have people. They belong to themselves. Love isn’t a possession, no matter how much I’d like to hold onto it.” Steve whispers the confession, ashamed by his thoughts. Love isn’t an object he gets to carry like a dog tag. It’s not about having, but instead, giving. Like what Pepper is choosing to do.

It’s a statement he’s only come to understand after spending the last decade of his life belonging to the public, to the government. And now, he has his chance to belong to himself and has the option to choose to share who he is. 

“Tony and I... We understand each other. And I know him.” Pepper removes her hands from where Steve grips it. She settles her hands on Steve’s shoulders. “I’m giving him this. _I’m_ choosing that.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve can’t help but say, somehow finding blame in himself as he thought Pepper’s about outright telling him of her own choices, her vision of love.

She sighs. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. For years.” 

“What?” He feels warm all over, like the time in the hospital hall. Steve’s breath catches, he wishes Pepper would stop pushing, stop peeling the parts of him that he’s left unexamined. 

“You don’t have to deny it. Oh. _Oh._ You didn’t know, did you? Of course you didn’t. Stupid, stupid man.” She laughs, but it comes out as a sob. Pepper looks at Steve without any blame. She throws up a hand that can only be deemed as frustration. “Why are men so stupid with their feelings?” 

Steve settles on the concrete floor. It’s dirty but damn his jeans were already a mess. “I don’t know. Natasha said the same thing.”

 _Don’t say it, please don’t,_ Steve wants to beg her. “What, no, Pepper. Don’t. That’s —” 

Steve’s not ready to hear the words he doesn’t have the courage to admit to himself. 

“Well, she’s right. I bet she knew too.” She eyes him sharply. Then without remorse, she whispers harshly, “Don’t be a fucking coward, Steve. Tony doesn’t deserve that. Be a goddamn decent human being and tell him you’re in love with him. He deserves to know. Love him in the way he deserves to be loved. Openly, without restraint. Don’t you think you’ve both suffered enough?” 

Steve runs a hand over his face, feeling numb to the mechanical movements. “Love is shit.” 

“Who said it wasn’t?” Pepper responds wryly. “A philosopher once said that an unhappy marriage means not a lack of love, but friendship. Tony and I have been friends for decades. This choice is all about love. You can't want love and be uninterested in loving. It isn’t safe, you know. It’s always risky to love. But guess, what? We do it anyway.”

Steve nods, attempting to digest Pepper’s musing. He suspects he’ll think of her description of love for a long time. He's clinging to an assumption about love. Like Peggy said, Steve's written himself a false future. In his haste to have answers, Steve's always jumped down the building with nothing but himself and a shield. The vibranium shield is an impenetrable wall, cool, and sleek. He wonders when he began to inhabit the same sentiment about his heart. In his efforts to protect himself from all that is unsafe, he speculates on the future. Three, five, seven steps ahead. Yet, his strategy for life is his shit. It’s got him a house in a lonely plot without a neighbor in the vicinity. 

Love is for children, Nat once said. Yet, it's her who's loved so clearly, without fear and restraint. It's easier to face assumptions of despair, a false future, a lost love, rather than step towards this future. He's a coward -- the wounded child of so many tales, silenced by insecurity and the loom of death. For Steve, there's been nothing but the mission. Here is he with another purpose: live life and love willingly, unrepressed. 

“Will you be okay?” Steve asks. He wants to pull her over for a hug but stops himself. They were never close, their relationship turning even more sour after Siberia. But Pepper is always polite to a fault. Classy and genuine in a way that made Steve want to run to the bathroom and bash all the mirrors. Because he’s not like her, could never be. 

Pepper pulls the lapels of her coat closer to her body. As if she’s preparing for battle. And Steve guesses, in a way, she is. 

“I won’t be. Not for a long time. But I’ll get there. Will _you_?” She retorts then turns and calls Morgan over, “We’re leaving, sweetheart.”

Morgan skips over, her Stark Pad precariously close to dropping from her small hands. “Bye, Pudding!”

Steve can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “See you, Morgan.”

Pepper smiles, offering Morgan her hand. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing Steve soon.” She glances at him again. “Steve?” 

“Yes?” 

Pepper pulls her daughter protectively to her chest. “If he comes back to me, I won’t push him away. I won’t let him go again.”

Steve follows their retreating figures, Morgan continuing to stare at him over Pepper’s strawberry-blonde head. She eyes him with contemplation before Pepper buckles her into the car seat. With one last look at Steve from the car’s dashboard, she ignites the Audi and reverses, leaving Steve to his haunting thoughts. 

As if to wash away guilt and stress, Steve pats his hands down his denim jeans watching until he no longer sees the car down the rocky, paveless road. He waits until he can’t hear the sound of the engine, then walks slowly towards the river. He collapses on the dirt, utterly exhausted, hands going to pull at his overgrown hair. Like the hair on his head, his beard is overgrown. He needs a shave, but Steve doesn’t have the energy for it. When on the run, Natasha teased him about his depression beard. No care for the image of Captain America, he let grief grow in his chest. He guesses that his unkempt appearance is a reflection of that. 

His mind wanders to Natasha, to the battle, to Tony, and his grand, daunting task of rebuilding a home. His home, now. Yet the cabin is empty save for a bottle of liquor that can’t get him drunk and the stray dog that comes to visit every couple of days. 

What a sad life. Loneliness roams the unpaved roads. Even under the blistering sun in the midst of winter seems like a punishment, not respite. 

Steve follows the fall of a dull, ember leaf falling from the sky. It touches the river then drifts. Away, away, it rocks alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter. Let me know what you think by dropping a line below. I'd love to scream about this with you all.
> 
> Comments and kudos are fuel to more writing! Thank you! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to you. Yes, you, my dear reader, who's been following along. I really appreciate all the comments, thoughts, kudos, and love given to this fic. Thank you so much!

Eidetic memory is a son of a bitch. Sometimes, when Steve gets distracted, he remembers Tony’s face in the Siberian bunker. The look of betrayal haunts him and he’s spent the following years documenting Tony’s expression in scrap pieces of paper in an effort to get it out of his head. He recalls the piercing scream in the Compound as Tony snapped the gauntlet and saved the rest of their asses. Steve continues to think about it early mornings just as the sun rises and in restless evenings. 

Steve’s too stubborn to apologize, even though all he wants is for Tony to forgive him. Beg him to love him back. Because Steve _knows_ now, fucking finally; he figures out his feelings after a decade. 

No, he’s always known, in the deepest parts of his mind, where Steve pushed down his feelings in favor of focusing on the mission. Then the next mission. Then there’s another crisis. A war. A battle. Until now. He’s in the same spot, rooted, yearning. 

There’s this saying he heard from Augusto, who tells him this every time he sees Steve moping around the shop looking for wood varnish or screws. “Sometimes you just gotta swallow it down.”

He’s not sure what Augusto meant, whether it’s better to just repress it all or accept it. Steve’s not sure there’s a difference between letting something go and enduring it quietly. 

But Steve is sure of one thing, Tony would have given Augusto a sarcastic reply if he was there. 

Meeting again is wishful thinking, but in the center of it all, one thing was constant: Tony. 

Steve sits on the now complete veranda, sipping black tea, sketching the dock. He’s always finding something new to draw. And his house is mostly finished. All that’s left is to fill it with furniture. 

But he’s still holding off on that. Just yesterday, he installed a dishwasher, so he counts that as a win. He even purchased a set of cutlery and pots and pans. He’s still partial to Natasha’s chipped tea cup, though. 

He was doing something with his life. Everyday was still a struggle. A battle of getting up and putting in labor for something that would be his. But seeing the house often reminds him of being alone and he doubts his decisions all over again–from taking the serum, to joining the Avengers, to Tony. 

There’s always Tony. Like an unyielding weed in his rocky driveway, Tony takes root in Steve’s life and stays there, even when he’s not actually present. He doesn’t even know when it began, not really. But Tony’s always been there. Always. Even before Steve really knew him. 

Steve sits on his veranda, overlooking the lake, and sketches the outline of the oak tree in front of him, following the shape of a cluster of branches and leaves. As always, he wonders what his neighbor is doing. Steve’s been in the property for nearly a year now, and there’s still no one in sight. He supposes that it’s a summer home. If that’s so, then, perhaps, the family will move in soon. 

He’ll walk through the bridge connecting their property, say hello, talk about the lake, then maybe about the northside beaches, and then he’ll return home, alone, and watching a happy family from across the way.

Sometimes he just wants to get up and leave this house. Forget the way he built it like he was hoping for repentance. It’s given him a mission, sure, but it’s nearly complete, and Steve will be lost once more. 

Idly, he wonders what’s next for him, feeling agitated over the lack of conflict, the absence of missions. It’s not like when he woke from ice and there were missions, briefs, crises. 

Steve’s been told by Clint and Natasha that he needed a life. He supposes he’s had some, many years over as the asthmatic kid from Brooklyn, a science experiment, an artist, Captain America, and now finally, his life unfolds as Steve Rogers. He has no idea what that means. For a man of over a hundred, he still doesn’t have his shit together.

He fills in the drawing, taking care to capture the low hanging branch. It’s the perfect place for a hummingbird feeder. 

So yeah, eidetic memory is a son of a bitch. Well, it’s useful in the field, but now, all Steve can do is repeat every single memory he’s made since waking up from the ice. 

Now, he’s recalling the forsaken bird feeder Tony placed in the Tower. Only, Steve never had the chance to see it. Steve thinks of this memory often, carries it the way people hold onto pretty, precious things they no longer have. 

They’re on the Tower's rooftop, sitting side by side with their arms behind them to support their weight. It’s late afternoon when Tony finds Steve with the day’s newspaper in hand. Tony’s coming out of the workshop, getting some sun after a day indoors. 

They talk about nonsensical things, gossip about Clint and Thor, talk smack about the Knicks, and snootily critique the new exhibit in the Met.

Then, Tony, pointing at a pair of birds twittering, says, “Ah the songs that the songbirds sing.”

“That’s not a songbird, Tony,” Steve counters.

Tony snorts, then sticks out his tongue, “I’m aware. I wanted to say it anyway.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Say what I want to say?” Tony raises an eyebrow. He isn’t wearing his famous Tom Fords. It’s just Tony. No gear, no suit, just Tony with his workshop clothes and grease on the side of his left cheekbone.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He isn’t like Tony, unabashed in opinion as long as it's of the intellectual trajectory. Steve finds that Tony’s feelings are not vocalized often. Steve wants to crawl inside him and dig at his bones and find the parts that ache, the sore parts, and mend it.

Tony shrugs. “What’s the point in hiding?” He pauses, moving forward to examine the little birds swinging back and forth the Tower’s crabapple tree. 

“It’s a hummingbird.”

“No, it’s not,” Tony says, the snob he is, nose upturned with a grin. He’s always handsome. But there’s something else that happens when Tony knows he’s right–he smiles with glee. Steve finds it completely irritating. “That’s an eastern bluebird.”

“Well, the one beside it is definitely a hummingbird.” Steve points out just because it’s part of their song and dance.

Then Steve says, “We should get a feeder.” Steve follows Tony towards the birds. They stand close to the tree, but not near enough to startle the birds. “They remind me of you. They’re just like you. Moving, always moving.” 

Each time Steve comes close to the bird feeding from the nectar, it glances then flies away. He can only observe it from a distance. Ember in color, with a splash of white wrapping around its neck like a scarf. It reminds Steve of the Iron Man suit. 

“Huh. Is it because they’re attracted to the color red?” Tony tilts his head, eyes alight with mischief. “So, what, you’ll think of me each time you see a bird?”

Steve nods, willing himself to shut up before he says something stupid, like _I’m always thinking of you_. Instead, he says, “Sure, why not? Little red hummingbird, what was it you said, Tony? The hummingbird that keeps humming. It sounds just like you. Always chittering in the comms and flying around in that suit.”

“Idiot, it’s the songbird.” Tony chuckles, eyes lighting up in delight. “And, I’m going to pass the size joke. I’m assuming you’re the bald eagle in this scenario. The face of American society. There you go.”

“That’s not how I’d describe myself.” Steve snorts, setting himself down the lawn. Strength, freedom, courage, that’s what the bald eagle represents, Captain America in a different form. It isn’t Steve.

Tony sits beside him, stretching his arms up in the air before setting them down, one hand close to Steve’s fingers. Maybe if he was brave, courageous and strong, soaring high without fear, he’d settle his palm over Tony’s. Intertwine their fingers. Instead, Steve flexes his fingers, rearranges himself to settle his hands on his lap. Pulling away. 

Unfazed by Steve retracting from the touch, Tony bumps Steve’s shoulders and says, “Well, they mate for life.” 

Steve never did see that humming feeder. 

Apparently, it’s red. 

* * *

Late in the summer, Steve’s neighbor arrives. It’s perfect because the pears and plums and nectarines are in season, and he thinks of giving them a basket from the stand by the beach.

Steve’s in his shed, building a basic canoe. The lake teases him and he wonders what it would be like to bird watch on the eastern side of the property. His last project was a kitchen table; he got tired of eating on Natasha's ricketty breakfast table. And he's decided that after living here for nearly a year, he needs to suck it up and get that Captain America courage and just go shopping.

The locals who pay visit to his house have teased him about not having anything other than a set of dishes. It’s true. There’s not much need for more than one utensil when you’re alone. Only, when he went to the shop, nothing suited his liking, so Augusto suggested that Steve shut up and build his own. He handed Steve another book and directed him to collect wood. 

It’s turning out nicely, unlike his first chair, which was a disaster. Steve got a deep cut on his palm, bless the serum’s power for stitching his flesh like nothing happened. 

Hearing the grunting and complaints across the lake, Steve wanders off from his shed to the dock. Across the rickety bridge someone bends over the open car door. It was a very nice behind, Steve will admit. 

The person turns, popping their back and stretching with their arms up high. It’s a familiar torso, and the following groan is one Steve recognizes even from a distance. He’s heard it so many times while spending late evenings in the workshop.

Well, who else did Steve expect? 

It’s Tony Stark under the late afternoon sun.

Even from afar, Steve sees the grays on Tony’s temple, it’s like his super soldier serum teases him with all the things he can see and can’t have. 

Tony wears jeans and a band t-shirt. Steve knows this one, it has a hole on the left armpit and it’s Tony’s favorite. He refuses to throw it out despite all the stains it’s accumulated. 

Tony’s right side bears a mechanical arm, a prosthetic in red and gold colors, much like the Iron Man suit. He wears it easily, as if it's normal, like it was his flesh all along. For a man who wore a suit of armor for so many years, Steve thinks that of course, Tony would take into building himself an arm that exceeds all expectations.

Tony moves his luggage and boxes out of his car with efficiency, meaning that the arm must be both functional and calibrated for strength. It’s just like Tony to wear his scars with defiance. 

It’s lovely to see him, even when he’s seemingly unreachable. Steve feels tension leave his body, as if he was waiting for Tony all along. He holds his breath for a moment.

All at once, Steve realizes that his neighbor is _Tony Stark_. He exhales deeply, waiting for Pepper and Morgan to step out of a car. They’ll summer here as a family, get away from the city, maybe they’ll spend quiet evenings as a family in the dock, while Steve will watch from across the lake. Once again, an isolated outsider looking in. 

But neither of them come out, and with belated realization, Steve concludes that Tony is alone and that the divorce went through. 

It’s the shock, adrenaline, and pure, unadulterated joy of seeing Tony in the flesh, after a year of no contact, that has Steve cupping his hands and yelling Tony’s name from across the lake. 

Like whiplash, Tony follows his call and gives him a lazy grin. Steve can’t help the fluttering in his stomach. Because here’s Tony smiling at him with pleasure and sarcasm. Steve can no longer deny the stir of wanting and yearning deep in the pits of him. 

Because this is Tony Stark, the man puts down the box he’s holding, taps his chest, and the Iron Man suit slowly covers the rest of his body. Steve’s seen Iron Man in action dozens of times but he’s still in awe. 

Steve’s lips lift, the act so uncommon these days, that he doesn’t actually realize he’s smiling.

Tony flies across the lake and hovers above Steve before slowly settling to the ground. He’s just a distance away, three or so feet between them, and it’s then that Steve remembers he’s wearing a white shirt that seen better days and stained jeans. He even has sweat stains under his arms and hasn’t shaved in months, except for the routine trim. It was like being on the run again. He’s taken to keeping his hair longer out of laziness. In short, he’s not presentable, not for Tony anyway. 

“Tony,” Steve calls out, blood rushing through him. He can barely breathe. 

The suit disappears, and it’s a privilege to see the nanotech retracting from Tony’s body because Tony _did_ that, and he’s a genius. Steve will never get over it. Tony’s too good for words. 

“Cap.” Tony hovers, a hand going on his right elbow, his mechanical one. “Hey.” Then he laughs and shakes his head. It’s a sight that Steve didn’t think he would see directed at him again. “Fuck. Pepper was right. She’s always right.” 

He half-turns towards Steve and then to the house. “Anyway, Steve, you’re really making this whole bearded, flannel wearing, lake house building thing work for you. White really is your color.” Tony gestures to Steve’s face. 

Willing himself not to blush, Steve says, “Sam says it's my depression beard. Bucky thinks it’s my ‘I need to get my shit together’ beard. I’m really just too lazy to shave it off.” 

And mostly, Steve wanted a change.

A beat, then Tony asks, “Well, are you? Depressed?” 

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugs. 

A persistent feeling of melancholia seems to follow him. Even a year after the battle, the loss of Natasha still stings. But more than that, there was five years in between the snap that utterly altered all he's ever known. 

Tony pauses, eyes Steve with curiosity. “I’d offer a hug. But we were never the type for that.” He sighs. “I hope things get better for you, Steve.”

Steve nods, wishing they were the type of friends to hug and comfort each other physically. Men like him have had it beaten inside their heads that vulnerability should never be expressed. Steve nods, then says, “Yeah, me too.”

Steve thinks he might actually mean it.

Tony walks towards the house with his hands on his hips. Steve stands beside him inspecting the shutters. He made a mistake with one of the window’s installations. The shutter was crooked, but he isn’t stressed about it. Even Captain America makes mistakes. A lot of them, in fact.

“You always did have an eye for architecture.” Tony looks up at him for a second too long. Steve, enthralled, refuses to look away. “Even if you think my building was ugly.”

Tony returns his gaze back to the veranda, then back at Steve. They stare at each other for another two beats. It’s so silly and mundane to look at another human being and feel content. Maybe, Steve thinks, that’s what life is all about. 

Tony bites back a smile and it takes all of Steve’s willpower to not pull Tony into his arms. 

“I never thought it was ugly. I was just too stubborn to admit that I liked it. Still do.” 

Tony huffs, but remains silent, so Steve gestures forward and leads him up the short steps of the veranda and into the house. He pulls open the double doors and leads Tony into the open space of the kitchen and living room. Steve, still without a sofa, takes Tony to the kitchen table. 

Suddenly nervous, about the state of his home and _Tony, Tony, Tony_ being in his proximity, Steve keeps busy with grinding some coffee beans. Tony’s still quiet, observing the house, its sturdiness and its rustic flaws. 

Steve can’t stop watching him. 

Steve turns away every other time Tony’s gaze settles on him. But most times, Steve doesn’t look away, he just keeps watching Tony until Tony finds something else to look at. It’s a habit Steve’s never learned to break. Some things never change. Even on the run after Siberia, whenever he caught a photo of Tony in the newspaper, in a magazine, on the television, Steve watched as if sirened and it took Sam and Bucky pulling him away to snap out of it.

Calming his nerves, Steve grinds and grinds, pours water into the moka pot. Closes it. Set it on the stove. Then, without anything else to keep his hands occupied, he sits across from Tony, back tense. He wills himself to relax but fails.

Tony is here, in the flesh, and as always, Steve is lost for words. This was the man who infuriated him, who made him want to scream and run away, but the same man who roused him, made him turn back. Return, return, always. Tony’s so central to his being, it took Steve nearly a decade to understand that. 

Tony eyes him, lips pressed into a line. He’s not disappointed, just amused, but the kind of amusement that leaves one baffled. He chuckles, then measures out, “Why do I always find my way back to you?”

Steve stays silent. He doesn’t know what to say. Maybe something stupid, like fate or the universe bringing them together for another chance. He’s had too many chances already. Steve can’t let this go, and once again, for the zenith time, his mind drifts back to Pepper’s words: love without restraint. 

Love is complicated, he sure as hell realizes that now. For growing up at the turn of the twentieth century, love seemed like an easy, sure thing–find a person, get married, start a family. Perhaps he’s a crumbling fool to think that love is cookie cut. Loving Tony is proof of that. But then, no, loving Tony isn’t complicated once Steve understood that the ache inside him was love all along. It was the act of loving that he found almost unknowable. Ungovernable, unruly.

Love is messy, not as easy, and takes work.

The smell of coffee fills the air while the late afternoon sun filters through the kitchen’s large windows. 

“Pretty big space for one person. I like your plants.” Tony observes, his eyes cut across the hodgepodge of flora in the room.

Steve can’t ever forget the way those brown eyes look when seeing something for the first time. He thought he’d never see them again, that he and Tony would part ways after the hospital and live separate lives. 

“Uh, thanks. I don’t have much yet. I just finished rebuilding the cabin. I need to get furniture,” Steve scratches his neck, feeling out of his axis. But then again, Tony had always titled Steve’s world. 

Tony nods, ignoring Steve’s gaze, instead focusing back on observing the wooden ceiling beams and the kitchen window sill. The only thing he really has is a bunch of basil and cilantro lining the countertops from Augusto’s wife, Izabel. 

“Yeah, from what I remember, Nat’s cabin was smaller. You built this entire thing? Of course you did, Rogers.” Tony huffs. “You always use your hands when you need to keep busy.” Tony adds.

They’re awkward, and Steve doesn’t really know how to make small talk with Tony. He’s never had to—they’ve always been the sort of people to jump into difficult topics and pick at each other’s scabs. For the first time, it’s just the two of them. No mission objective. No goal. No villain to defeat. Just Tony and Steve laid bare, pulling at the weeds to think of a conversational topic. This forced politeness is new, distant, and Steve can’t stand it. 

So he says, “It was good to build something for once instead of destroying it.” Steve sets his hands on the table in an effort to stop fiddling with the splatter of grease on his jeans. “Tony. We’ve never talked about everything that happened.” 

“Ugh, Steve. I literally just got here, and you want to jump into that? I told you, I just want peace.” Tony’s lips lift to the left, but it’s not a smile. He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing together. “Is it really important to talk about all that’s been done?”

“I think so.”

“What good will it do? Is it for me or for you?” Tony crosses his arms, uncrosses them, then finally leans over to watch Steve, who wills his heart to stop beating so fast. Tony says, “Because, Cap, I’ve already forgiven you. I’m over it. It’s been years. The hatchet was buried long ago.”

The moka pot begins spluttering so Steve hurries over, turns off the stove, and divides the coffee into two small mugs. He sets his favorite cup in front of Tony, heart twitching to see Tony hold something that once belonged to Nat.

Steve sighs, brings a hand over his forehead to swipe away some loose hair. His hair is getting long much like the time he was on the run after the so-called civil war. 

Tony bites his lip before finishing the last of his coffee. 

“It’s been years, yeah. But I still want to talk about it.”

Tony’s right, it’s been ages.

But Steve wants to hash out Siberia, the years on the run, the battle at Wakanda, losing Vision, Bucky, and T’Challa. He wants to ask Tony about confronting Thanos in space. He wants to ask about how the new scars on his shoulder were healing and how long it took Tony to build his prosthetic. 

Steve wants to ask about Peter, and Morgan, and how was Tony doing without Pepper? He wants, he wants, he wants. There’s so much he wants. And Steve knows he’s greedy and selfish because the purpose of talking about all the years in between them is for Steve’s own peace of mind. Tony’s right, as always. The memories still haunt Steve, he can’t forget them. 

Steve doesn’t know how Tony could forgive him so easily, for all the hurt and anguish Steve carries, Tony must have it worse. 

Tony leans closer, pushes the mug to the side, and puts his hands right in front of Steve’s. He catches Tony’s mechanical arm twitch, and once again, Steve is reminded of the piercing scream that plagues him most nights. 

But the contrast of the flesh arm and his mechanical one is a lovely sight. They don’t touch, but they’re so close that Steve can feel the warmth emanating from Tony’s body.

“Steve. We have time. I live across the lake. I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” he says in an appeasing tone, as if things were truly forgiven. 

Is Steve the only one who spends parts of his days thinking about all that was lost? 

Steve drops his head, and lets it go. Tony’s right, they have time. He can’t help the smile that erupts from his face knowing that he’ll see Tony tomorrow, and if all goes well, the next day, the day after, and all the days that follow. 

“Okay.” Steve nods, rubs his hands together. All he wants is to reach for Tony, yearns to feel his flesh hand grip Tony's mechanical one. He stops himself from gripping them, despite the fact that all he wants is to see the joints and marks on the prosthetic. He itches to draw it. 

He wants to tell Tony so much–about Angel and Augusto, about returning the stones, about his new found hobby of wood working. He wants to bitch all about Lake fucking Tahoe and how it’s not Brooklyn and how it could never be. And how he feels at loss with the isolation and how the only thing that kept him in place was his promise to Nat. He’s spent so much of his life in the crowded streets of New York that sometimes he doesn’t know how to react to being alone. 

But there were good things about this town, too: the quiet of the property, the empty beaches when tourist season was over, and his new friends. He wants to show Tony the farmer’s market in town and tell him all about his failed attempts in growing a lemon tree and the temptation to buy a horse to ride around the property. He wants to tell Tony about his failed attempts at making jam and feed Tony slices of nectarine and wipe its juice from Tony’s mouth.

Steve’s so full of want, he might explode. 

Tony raises an eyebrow. “What? No fight? Just okay? Who are you and what have you done to Steve Rogers?”

“I agree with you, I’m just across the water. I’ll bother you tomorrow, Tony,” Steve says.

“You agree with me? Well, an old dog can learn new tricks.” Tony leans back on his chair and winks. 

Easy. As if he was home. 

Steve breathes deeply, smiles. There’s time. 

* * *

Tony declines Steve’s offer for dinner, insisting he’s already eaten. Steve doubts the statement, but he doesn’t push. Instead, they finish coffee and Tony leaves. Steve has dinner alone. He would have grilled steaks over a fire in the veranda if Tony stayed, but instead, he pulls out a carton of eggs and some toast and calls it a day. 

The following morning, Steve falls to his usual routine. Coffee with half a dozen bagels. Then, he opens up the shed. He started working on the canoe over a week ago as an effort to trek the river and explore the rest of the property. Maybe he’ll follow the group of barn swallows flying across the sky. 

Fleetingly, he thinks of bird watching with Tony at the Tower and whether Tony could be convinced to sit on a rickety boat with Steve. 

He spends the morning laying the fiberglass cloth and applying epoxy to the inner hull. It’s easy, meditative, and takes his mind off Tony, who’s just across the river, the grief of missing Nat, and the guilt of leaving the Avengers. 

He doesn’t think of any of that. 

He just sands the deck, applies the glue, moves and moves his hands. Cuts pieces of wood when needed. Nails the wood. Place the clamps. He just moves, and moves, and moves. It’s much like painting and running. He breathes.

Tony finds him as he’s wrapping up for a lunch break. The man leans against the shed’s entrance like he belongs there. It reminds Steve of the first few times he entered Tony’s workshop in the tower. Only, this time, it was Tony seeking Steve out.

Steve smiles in greeting. “Lunch?” He says hopefully. 

“That’s why I flew over, Cap. No groceries and I refuse to take the Audi across the rocky path. Figured your truck would do just fine.” Tony nods over at the used Ford parked beside the shed. 

“Why’d you bring your Audi here, then?” Steve shakes his head, exasperated. He’s secretly reveling in delight that Tony sought him out though. 

“Well, I’ve never been practical. Eccentric billionaire, remember?” 

“No, just a superhero diva,” Steve jokes, organizing his tools before fully turning back to Tony. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony rolls his eyes, gazing at Steve from head to toe. He has a moment to feel slightly self-conscious again. He’s wearing his stained jeans and threadbare flannel today. It’s been washed so often that it’s so soft. Boots, because it’s a must for someone working with tools. He’s dressed as a man who does labor. At least he wasn’t wearing a shirt with pit stains again. 

Tony swallows. Steve follows the movement and thinks of the line of his throat. 

“Let’s go, Steve. I’m hungry and I can’t think. Or, I’ll be thinking too much. Then I’ll be rambling on.” He stares at Steve. “Can’t have my hard drive working too hard without fuel.” He taps his forehead, abruptly turns towards the truck. 

Steve, for his part, just huffs a laugh in amusement. He runs back inside to quickly wash his hands and fetch his wallet. In the bathroom, he looks over the mirror and has the strange desire to trim his beard a little bit. Then, laughs, because what the hell, he’s acting like he’s going on a date. But he combs back his hair. It really is getting long.

“Took you long enough. I was about to take the suit.” Tony gets into the car and starts fiddling with the radio. He groans. “No stations? I’m gonna have to do something about that.”

“Afraid we won’t get any stations until five miles out.” 

“And you don’t even have an AUX cord.” Tony dramatically throws a hand. “I’ll have to install FRIDAY into your car.”

“No, Tony, don’t mess with the car,” Steve says, just to be contrary. He hasn’t heard FRIDAY’s voice in years now, reminding him of how long he and Tony have been apart. 

“Stubborn jackass.” Tony laughs. “I'll improve it.”

“That’s me.” Steve can’t help but grin for the rest of the ride. He even tries to bite his lip to stop, but the sun is out, and their windows are down. The wind is musing Tony’s hair and he’s complaining about Steve’s car engine and the slow WiFi and how he has to rig the electric system running through the property. And, and, and… he’s just happy. Without restriction or guilt. The feeling is surprising and he wants to laugh out loud because this is what he’s wanted all his life. He settles for a smile. 

* * *

When they arrive at the diner, Tony leads them to a booth by the window. Tony left the seat closest to the wall open for Steve. He has the perfect view of all the exits and entrances. 

Steve shakes his head. “This is where I usually sit.”

“You’re predictable.” Tony snorts, waves over the waitress, and orders a pot of coffee.

Steve watches Tony scrutinize the menu. He orders a double cheeseburger and fries. 

“And you say I’m predictable?” Steve raises an eyebrow and asks for a bowl of chili as a starter.

Tony shrugs. “I’m just a simple man.”

“Or I just know you well,” Steve replies.

“Do you?” Tony retorts, leaning back, arms closed around his torso. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. 

“I do.” Steve nods in confirmation. Or at least, he thinks he knows Tony. But the man is an enigma, he wears his heart out, kind and forgiving, and full of excitement and life. But is difficult to know, to understand. One needs a manual and a fine-tooth comb to see him for who he really is. Steve admonishes himself for all the times he turned memories of Tony in his head and never understood the core of him: Tony is self-sacrificing, a hero, a man full of hope, a person who inspired, all the things Steve wishes he could be.

“Then…” Tony starts.

The food arrives. The teenage waitress eyes Tony with interest but eventually sets their orders and leaves. It’s one of the things that Steve likes about this small town. No one really fawns over him. But Tony, of course, is like a magnet, always attracting people to his presence. Steve’s not immune to it.

Steve hums, prodding Tony to continue.

Tony pops a fry in his mouth, eyeing Steve pointedly to dig in. 

“Then why do you always press my buttons when you know what would make me explode?” Tony says with a mouthful of burger. Tony presses a napkin on his lip, sips his water, then glances at Steve. He tilts his head and resumes eating. 

Steve eyes him. He wants to tell Tony the truth. No more lies, no more omissions. Maybe he can be as brave as Captain America. “Because I’m awkward and I don’t know how to react to things properly. And I’m an asshole who can’t admit when he’s wrong,” Steve says.

“Well, you’re _not_ wrong about that.” Tony grins. 

After lunch, Steve drives Tony to the local supermarket. Everything is organic and picked from the nearby farms. 

And as expected, Tony excitedly walks each aisle with Steve in tow. Steve pushes the cart as Tony shoves boxes of fruits, packages of meat, and bushels of vegetables into the cart. It reminds Steve of the few times he and Tony went down the bodegas in the corner of the Tower to purchase soda pops and sandwiches. It’s long ago, nothing but a memory. Yet, his recollection of their past brings him to the present. 

It was horribly domestic then. It’s domestic now. 

Tony examines the different bottles of honey and Steve’s heart twinges. He’s shaking with so many questions for Tony, agitated by his own desire to make declarations and do something stupid like cry. 

Instead, he watches Tony inspect two different brands of local honey and mutter about which one Morgan might prefer.

There’s time, he repeats like a mantra. 

* * *

Steve returns home after carrying Tony’s groceries into his porch. He bids Tony goodbye, stumbling through his words because he wants to ask Tony to come over for dinner but is nervous about the latter’s response. 

Instead, Steve takes the short drive home. Deeming it too late to finish up the canoe, he ends up reading a paperback on the kitchen table before starting dinner.

Steve grills two steaks on a cast iron skillet and fries up a hodgepodge of vegetables from his fridge. He watches it sizzle and distracts himself by washing the day old dishes so he doesn’t have to look through the kitchen window and across the lake.

He stares at the bridge and thinks about metaphors.

Steve chews on his bottom lip, caught between the desire to swim across the water and invite Tony over. Perhaps, after all the time that’s passed, Tony has better eating habits. Maybe fatherhood has required him to have a routine.

Steve sighs and flips the steaks. He made enough for two, just in case.

As he turns off the burner, there’s an insistent knock on the door.

Steve fails at quelling his enthusiasm and the burst of happiness that erupts in his stomach. Tony has a hand cupped on the large windows of the entrance. 

“Feed me,” Tony says as Steve opens the door. Tony taps the door with a lazy pout. Steve’s too distracted by the way the nanotech retracts from the rest of his body, like Tony’s stripped from armor. 

Steve opens the door and leads him inside. “You just come here for food, don’t you?”

“Well. You like to be needed.” Tony follows the line of his lips to the tips of his toes, then back again. He shakes his head. “And I know you, too. Well, in fact. So this is me helping you, really, Steve,” he says earnestly and plops down at the farm table. 

Tony runs his hand over the cedar wood. He’s always had these lovely hands. The insides are calloused, roughened by decades of working with tools. He bet the prosthetic always needs fine-tuning because Tony surely gets into battles with the blowtorch. 

“You know you don’t always have to be useful to be liked, right?” Tony asks. Peering over flowers and paperbacks on the table, Tony holds his gaze. Honey brown is a haunting color. “Though, I shouldn’t be one to talk, I guess. Still working through that shit.” 

Steve doesn’t have an immediate response, so he keeps quiet and makes Tony a plate. He pulls two glasses, fills them with water, and brings it to the table. He shoves the paperback and notebooks away from Tony, then returns to the counter and fusses over the vegetables. Then, he washes his hands, puts the pans into the sink, and hovers. 

Straightening his back, he walks back to Tony. It’s a simple act to walk towards this man he’s hurt. Left foot, right foot. But it weighs on him. Whenever it comes to Tony, Steve falters. Second guesses. Can’t move left to right, can’t march across. It’s a battlefield filled with mines when it comes to Steve and Tony. At every turn, he’s at the risk of stepping on a landmine. God, they have so much shit to hash out. 

There’s time, Steve says to himself.

“I think, for a long time, I’ve been liked because Captain America is an asset. Useful. Portrait of American patriotism.” Steve sits across from Tony and cuts his steak with ease.

“And now?” 

“I’m just Steve Rogers.”

“Steve Rogers. Builder. Woodworker. What else? There’s so much we can be now, Steve, don’t you think?” Tony cocks his head thoughtfully. 

The question is loaded and layered with so much more than Tony actually says. At least, that’s how Steve understands the simple inquiry. 

What are the possibilities of them becoming something other than superheros, as guardians of human life, as two people without the burden of making things right? Doing the good thing? What if they were just normal?

It wouldn’t be them.

But they could be Steve and Tony.

“I just want a simple life,” Steve begins. “Something easy. I think I’ve had enough adventure.”

“You and me both.” Tony nods sagely. “Fatherhood is both the easiest and most difficult thing I’ve done. It’s an adventure. But an easier one? Not like I’m going through a wormhole type of excitement. But it’s calm, uncomplicated. I didn’t know love could be like that, Steve. Before, I used to feel like I was gonna fuck it up. Being a father? I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for that.”

“You’re doing well, Tony. She loves you.” He’s only seen them together for a short period of time. In the hospital and at Tony’s old house. But Steve’s seen the open affection in their eyes.

“Love isn’t the issue, Steve. That’s the easy part.” Tony sighs. “You know, Howard was my dad. I’m scared to be like him. Sometimes I think I’m too lenient with Morgan. She’s got me wrapped around her fingers, that kid. I want to give her everything. I overcompensate, I think.” Tony pauses, takes a moment to cut up the rest of his steak as if he isn’t really paying attention to it. “Pepper grounds me though, talks me out of being too excessive.”

Steve drops his cutlery, brings his hands across the table for Tony to hold. If he wants too. Steve just leaves them open. “Tony.” 

“She told me she came to see you,” Tony says, eyes curious.

“Pepper?” Steve asks. 

“Morgan, too. Told me she saw her Pudding.” Tony offers a small smile at the endearment. “We tell each other everything.”

“Oh.” He shouldn’t ask, he shouldn’t pry, but the words still come out of his mouth, “Tony, about Pepper…” 

“Yes?” Tony shoves a spoonful of vegetables into his mouth. 

Steve knows it’s an act of refusal. Tony won’t be the one to explain to Steve. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” He barks out a harsh laugh. Then, suddenly looking exhausted, Tony pushes his unfinished dinner to the side, and rubs a hand across his forehead. The patches of greys and white on the corner of his temple looked lovely against his skin. “No, Steve. I just got divorced. It’s been three months but no, I’m not alright. It’ll always hurt. But I will be,” he says with determination. “I’ll be fine.” 

It reminds Steve of Pepper and the way she shook her head, telling Steve she’ll be alright. 

“Tony.” He doesn’t know how to follow up with that. He doesn’t ever know what to say to Tony. “I’m sorry you’re not alright. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

“That’s life, Cap.” Tony offers a fleeting smile. “Pepper and I have been friends for decades. We’ll be fine. We made it work the first time we separated. But sometimes I can’t help but think if I tried harder...”

“You love her,” Steve measures out. “You don’t give up on things, ever, Tony.”

“I do love her,” Tony confirms easily.

“Then, why… Why'd you sign... Why.” Steve doesn’t understand. He had a lost love with Peggy. If he had the chance at love again, he’d never let go. He’s never had something that was solely his. Even Captain America belonged to the public. “Why give up on all...on the life you’ve built?

“There wasn’t giving up, not really, Steve. We didn’t give up. It was more about choosing the best for us and preserving our friendship. It’s also because we love each other and we don’t want to lie. Deprive ourselves of better things,” Tony flicks Steve’s open hands with his mechanical ones. He offers a soft smile, “Love can be a bit like that. A little bit fucked.” 

In astonishment, Steve blurts out, “There’s someone else better than you?”

Tony pauses, then throws his head back with a loud laugh. It’s a happy laugh with teeth and gums. He’s always been handsome, and there’s a little part of Steve that screams because he made Tony laugh. 

“Man, thanks for that. That was a good one.” Tony swipes his hair to the side. He picks at the steak for a bit, not ready to talk. So Steve stays quiet and does the same, thinking, yeah, love is fucked. But when you have something, no, someone like Tony, Steve knows with every once of righteousness and conviction that he’d hold on forever. 

After a while, the mood turns somber as if they’re both reflecting on their individual lives and the way they’re intertwined. 

“It wasn’t a joke, you know,” Steve says.

“Right.” Tony rolls his eyes and ignores the statement. “Pepper and I always make things work.”

“Loving her was easy, wasn’t it?”

Tony nods. “Loving her _is_ easy. I’m just a man who doesn’t know how to accept easy.” Tony sets the cutlery down and holds Steve’s gaze. “But simple? I can do it. Live by the lake. Work on upgrades. SI stuff. Retire, really. Live my life, Steve, live it without denial. Pepper and I have always been partners, first and foremost, before being husband and wife. We’ll make it just fine, Steve.” Tony says this adamantly, but his eyes are glassy. “It’s still a divorce. It still hurts. We love each other, but it’s for the best. Like I said, love isn’t what’s at fault here.” 

Steve itches to put his hands over Tony’s restless ones. He closes his fists instead and quells down the desire.

He’s always restraining himself, Steve realizes. He’s strived for control and management, compartmentalization of his feelings and desires. The life he’s lived so far has always been for others, for being Captain America, but never about Steve Rogers.

“What about Morgan?” Steve chokes out. 

“Co-parenting. Pepper and I are very progressive like that. She’s still CEO of SI. I’ll have Morgan half the week, and she’ll be with Pepper the other half. We’re moving SI headquarters back to California. Pep’s still debating on whether it should be in San Francisco or LA. But I think she’s leaning towards the former. It’s a shorter drive from here. And just ten minutes with the suit.” Tony taps the arc reactor on his chest. “She’ll be here in a few weeks. I gotta get her room and the rest of the house fixed first.” 

“I can help you, if you want. Fix up the house, I mean. I, um, I built this kitchen table here.” Steve points to it. “So I can help with building whatever.”

Tony laughs. “Steve, what did I say about not equating usefulness to being likeable?” 

“Old habit, I guess.” 

“Yeah, that’s fine. And you don’t have to help if you’re busy. Weren’t you building something in the shed?”

“Yeah, a canoe. I was hoping to go around the lake, take it around the property. I saw some swallows flying there.” Steve hesitates, then somehow, summons the courage to add, “You can go with me sometime, if you want.”

“God, that’s like a Victorian novel. But I’d like that.” Tony laughs. “Swallows, huh?”

“Seen some chickadees too.”

Tony stands, grabs the plates, and heads over the sink. “Well, that’s enough heart to heart for today.” 

Steve follows with the rest of the dishes and begins washing them. Tony hops on the countertops and examines the rest of Steve’s house. Like Sam and Bucky, Tony advises Steve to buy more furniture. A coffee table, more decor, Tony says. 

Steve’s pretty hopeless in that regard. He lived at the SHIELD apartments where everything was provided much like the Tower and the Compound. Plus, Steve doesn’t need much. He thinks that adding furniture will just add to the facade that in fact, he’s alone, and there’s no one to share his home with. You live with others but you die alone. Yet here he is, occupying a house where the only friends he has for company are a lemon tree and potted plants.

But Tony’s here. That has to mean something.

Tony’s finger grazes the plants in his vicinity and he refuses to help Steve with the dishes. _Brat,_ Steve says fondly. He smiles throughout washing the pots and pans, utterly relaxed with Tony beside him, the tension of the earlier conversation leaving them as they talk about Peter, Morgan, and whatever else Tony is currently working on.

Tony swings his legs while examining the rest of the house. Steve, for his part, finishes drying the last of the plates and leans beside Tony. He’s close enough to feel Tony’s warmth and watch the crinkle of his eyes. He’s gorgeous. His wild hair is mused from the running his hands through it, and his complexion contrasts nicely with the eggshell colored walls, the green plants that surround him. 

Tony looks like he belongs there. On the counter. Maybe with a cup of coffee that Steve prepares in the morning.

Loving him is easy, and Steve hopes like hell, that can give that love justice.

“I always liked the color blue.” Tony observes the azure cabinets. 

“I’m partial to red,” Steve replies. “And gold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ripped my cold-ass heart out in this chapter. Who remembers all that talk about hummingbirds and bird feeders in Vormir?
> 
> I look forward to reading your thoughts on this chapter. Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to share this chapter with you! This is longer than the previous chapters, hitting at almost 16k. I had the best time writing it. Everyone ready? 
> 
> Thank you to Nathan & Blue from the POTS discord server for the beta and cheer.

Steve doesn’t see Tony the following day. More than once, Steve’s tempted to cross the lake and invite Tony out for lunch, but he doesn't want to interrupt or push Tony into accepting his company. Steve decides that morning that he’ll wait for Tony to come to him. 

He’s afraid inviting Tony out and constantly seeking his company would be too presumptuous. 

Steve has lunch and dinner at home that day, and if he looks over the kitchen window to see across the lake, that’s just an old habit he’s had before he even knew who lived in the house up the hill. 

Tony comes over the following afternoon, catching Steve cutting the dimensions to some plywood for shelves in the living room. Steve had been slightly embarrassed by the state of his empty house when Tony came over, and wanted to start filling it up. 

Giving it more life. Making it more welcoming. 

He’s hoping to put all the plants Izabel gives him on the shelves along with Natasha’s book. Steve thanks the outdoor magazines Augusto keeps giving him for inspiration. 

“Lunch?” Tony leans on the shed’s framing the same way he did the first day. 

“Of course.” Steve smiles, pleased to see Tony, and even more chuffed that Tony willingly sought him out first.

Over the next two weeks, Tony tries all the renditions of a cheeseburger at the diner while Steve watches him, starstruck. He’ll never tire of the way Tony’s eyes light up at the simplest things–like the bots doing something silly, solving technological puzzles Steve doesn’t understand, or getting extra fries because the waitress thinks he’s adorable. 

It’s when Tony slurps the last of his milkshake and grins at Steve over his glass that Steve realizes that Tony can take it all–his heart, his life, everything that Steve is, if it means spending the rest of his life in Tony's orbit. Steve’s lived through the end of the world, once, twice, many times over. 

He’s sure of one thing: Pepper’s right. 

_Don't let him go._

Tony’s here. Maybe he didn’t necessarily return to Steve, but fate is a funny little thing, and after living a life of loss, Steve wants something that’s his to keep. 

Steve doesn’t want to hide anymore, so he stops schooling his features into something that’s neutral every time Tony glances at him. Tony deserves a love that’s unrestrained; Steve thinks he’ll erupt with it. 

He didn’t know that love could feel so much like desperation, but here he is, grateful to be close to Tony. 

Steve will always look at him with awe, like catching something beautiful and fragile in the palms of his hands. It deserves to be planted, needs to live to grow. 

It’s then at that moment that Steve lets go of any misgivings, any resentment. He’ll live with regrets of the violence he’s inflicted in their intertwined lives; he’ll carry that always. 

Steve vows to do better. 

So for dinner, Steve makes sure to keep his fridge fully-stocked in case Tony decides he wants to be fed. Tony doesn’t come over to demand food every evening. But Steve makes enough for two, just in case. 

Steve, for his part, anxiously waits to meet Morgan once again, without the pressure of saving the universe or Tony being in the hospital hanging over them. He wants to get to know her because she’s Tony’s kid, Tony’s entire universe, and Steve is a lone star that cycles around its sphere. 

She’s been at Tony’s the last two weekends, but they’ve yet to pay Steve a visit.

He doesn’t mind watching them from afar. Tony and Morgan both wave at him when they’re outdoors, but make no move to cross the bridge.

When Morgan leaves the following Monday, Tony fetches Steve from the workshop for a meal. Tired of the diner food, Steve takes Tony to Izabel’s restaurant in the boondocks. It’s on the other side of town, closer to the agricultural community outside of Lake Tahoe. But the drive is worth it. 

_Izabel’s Cantina_ is a small restaurant at the edge of the town where most farm workers go for lunch. When they arrive, the lunch rush has finished and most of the restaurant is empty save for a couple in a corner table. Angel is busing the tables, apron tight on his waist. 

He waves at Steve before doing a double-take. 

“You’re Iron Man!” Angel turns to his father, jaws slacked, eyes wide. Dropping his cloth and running over to Steve and Tony, he says, “Holy shit, pa, it’s Iron Man! Tony Stark!”

Tony laughs, pleased at Angel’s excitement. Tony is always so good with fans, especially children. Steve recalls the one time they went to Central Park and were mauled by a group of fans who wanted selfies. 

Tony amused them all, threw up a peace sign, and blew kisses. He’s beautiful when given attention and admiration. 

“Well, kid, I’m sorry to break it to you, you stand before another legend. That’s Captain America.” Tony nods over at Steve as they take a seat near the kitchen. The smell of chicken and corn tortillas fills the space.

Angel rolls his eyes, spares Steve a glance, then turns back to Tony. “Who? Steve? Nah, I don’t see it.” He is vibrating with excitement and bouncing on his toes. “But you. Wow.” 

“Yep, Tony Stark,” Steve chuckles. “In flesh.” 

“What? It’s Steve Rogers? American hero?” Tony turns to point at Steve, eyebrows reaching his hairline. “You really don’t know who this is, kid?” 

“Steve’s just Steve, the bumbling gringo who needed Pa to teach him how to use a saw.” Angel grins at Tony, barely looking at Steve. He watches the interaction unfold: Angel asking for a photograph, then about Tony’s latest project. The kid proceeded to fawn about Tony’s “super cool arm” once he noticed the prosthetic. 

“Sorry, if that’s rude.” Angel removes his hands from where he was touching Tony’s mechanical arm. “But damn, you’re a cyborg. Super. Super cool, Mr. Stark.”

“ _Finally_ , someone who thinks I’m cool. Say that to my kid when I bring her over, will you?” Tony laughs. 

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark. Tony. Wow.” Angel, starstruck, keeps stumbling over his words and quizzing Tony on anything and everything until Izabel comes to take their order. 

“Go back there and bring them some chips and salsa, Angel,” Izabel says. “Sorry about him, it’s not everyday we see a celebrity superhero here.” 

“No worries, but may I remind you that Steve Rogers is sitting across from me?” Tony points at Steve, utterly confused. “Captain America?”

“Eh, Steve? He’s just a regular here who orders five _carne asada_ burritos for himself.” She shakes her head, “I swear, it’s like he came back from a war, the way that man eats. It’s like he was on rations.” 

“Huh.” Stumped, Tony looks from Izabel to Steve, to Angel bringing them their chips. 

Instead of ordering, he asks Izabel to give him her favorite meal, which of course, wins Izabel over because she rushes to the kitchen to prepare _caldo de res_. 

“Are they just fucking with me?” Tony leans over the table and hisses, “Or you? They seriously don’t know you?”

“Maybe they do and they’ve decided to leave me to my anonymity. Besides, Izabel thinks all white men with blond hair and beards look the same.” Steve chuckles, recalling the time Izabel mistook him for someone else. She gave him a spider plant from her garden as an apology. And thus, his plant collection began. “It’s a relief to not have the weight of being Captain America, actually.” It’s something Steve can shed off, unlike Tony, who’s always going to be Iron Man. “I like Steve Rogers. Or, at least I think I’m beginning to like him.”

“I can relate to that,” Tony says with a cheeky smile. “I still wanna punch him in the face sometimes though.” 

“He deserves it,” Steve nods solemnly. “I do.” 

Tony reaches over and flicks Steve’s wrist. “Stop the pity party, Rogers.”

“It’s the truth.”

“We’ve both done things we deserve to be punched in the face for,” Tony offers. 

Long ago, Steve said he’s not looking for forgiveness; he meant, in the moment, that he didn’t need to apologize because ultimately, he made the right call. But he’s come to understand in the following years that the penance doesn’t equal remorse. Nor does forgiveness absolve guilt. The right side meant losing. He’s accepted that since 1943. 

But to lose Tony, again, he won’t survive it. 

Tony continues to flick his wrists until he tuts and changes the subject. From then on, they talk about Carol and Rhodes’s wedding, which was ironically in the midst of Tony’s divorce proceedings. 

Steve can feel the happiness radiating from Tony as he describes Rhodes’s and Carol’s wedding at an Air Force base. The two were such military saps, Tony explains that they even had airplanes flying in the sky during the vows. The reception followed at a restaurant in town with Peter Parker playing photographer. 

Tony tells him how Morgan’s been begging for a horse and how she gets into all of Tony’s equipment in the workshop. Tony describes all these events and little snapshots of his life with lively facial expressions, even imitating Bruce's and Rhodes’s voices. 

After lunch, they walk the farmers market where Tony buys homemade almond butter and complains about the vegetarian diet, and how much he needs steak and cheeseburgers in his life. 

It was domestic. The drive home was quiet, save for Steve’s favorite song playing on the radio. _Maybe down in lonesome town I can learn to forget._

There’s no forgetting all the loss they’ve both endured, their horrible miscalculations, their massive fights, not when it comes to his eidetic memory. He’ll always carry the look of anguish, the reminder of the shield slamming down Tony’s chest. This is what Steve must live with. And he’s made peace with it. 

But the last few weeks with Tony have quelled the loneliness plaguing him. It’s like the sun is coming up, and Steve actually believes life will be alright. 

* * *

The days pass. The sun sets. Life goes on. 

He’s out chopping wood late in the morning when Tony arrives. 

“What a familiar scene. Only this time you’re not yelling at me.” Tony takes in the axe and the pile of wood beside Steve. This time, there’s no flannel around Tony’s waist.

Steve wishes there was. He has the strange urge to take his own plaid off and hand it over to Tony. 

“Hi, Tony.” Steve straightens, dropping the axe. His hands go to his back pockets. 

Tony waves a hand at him. “You look like a lumberjack, by the way. I mean, the beard. It’s really something. It’s still kind of whiplash though. Last time I saw you cutting wood, you were about to bite my head off.”

It’s a familiar scene, to be sure. Last time, they yelled at each other about Ultron at the Barton family farm.

“The fight’s over this time, though,” Tony offers, walking to the pile of wood and begins putting them in crates. 

“For now,” Steve says, watching Tony’s mechanical hand easily grab a couple of bulky logs. “There’s always going to be something.”

Tony laughs. “Of course, there’s always going to be something, Steve. That’s life.”

“Well,” Steve pats his pocket, not sure what to say. Tony, all the while, is a whirlwind, hoping from the pile of wood to the crate, and chattering off.

It’s still a surprise to see him so alive, in Steve’s vicinity. 

“We went to the past, not the future, Steve. You can’t keep thinking so much about everything.” Tony turns with a satisfied smile. 

It still pisses Steve off, the way Tony acts like he knew the secret of the universe. Yeah, well, Tony probably _did_ know all about the universe but the arrogance grates at Steve and he doesn’t know whether he wants to walk up to Tony and hold him, or turn the other way.

 _No, don’t run_ , he repeats to himself, and suddenly, it feels like he’s getting ready for a fight. “Says the genius who can’t stop working?”

“Well,” Tony shrugs. He doesn’t say anything else.

They work quietly under the sun with Steve picking up the axe and chopping a steady beat. 

After a while, he stops and looks at Tony. There’s sweat dripping from his temples. “You’ll tire yourself. You don’t have to help me, you know.”

“I am anyway, okay?” Tony begins, “I don’t get you Steve. I don’t think I ever will. You carry a cross on your back when you don’t have to. You know that, right? No one is holding a gun to your head but you. What are you going to do with all this wood anyway?”

Steve pulls up his shirt, wiping the perspiration dripping from his chin.“I’m bringing it to Izabel. She’s planning to distribute it amongst her friends in town.”

Tony stares at him for a beat, then shakes his head and loads up another crate. “Nice of you, always so proper. You made friends, that’s good. How did you stay here by yourself? Didn’t you tell me once, that ‘we all need family’? And yet, here you are. Alone.”

“Nothing wrong with being alone,” Steve says.

Tony snorts, turning to Steve with a raised eyebrow, “You say that _now_ but I recall a time when you told me we need family and yet here you are rattling around a lake house by yourself.”

“Listen,” Steve begins, “there’s nothing wrong with being here. I’ve built a life here. I didn’t understand until after the snap, no, even after the battle that there’s a difference between being alone and loneliness.” 

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with being here,” Tony counters, walking to Steve. They only had the axe between them. 

Suddenly, it feels formative. One of them could grab it, but chose not to; words are sharper, Steve realizes. 

Tony throws back a thumb, pointing to the house, “I was just pointing out that you said we all need family and you’re here. Hiding out.”

“I’m not hiding out, Tony.” Steve feels his hackles rise, and once again, he sets the axe down and picks up a log and breaks it with his hands instead. “Drop it. Okay? I don’t have a family. Is that what you want to hear?”

Tony throws up his hands and glares at Steve. “Jesus, that’s not even what I meant. I was just making small talk. Fuck, I thought we were doing alright.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Steve mutters, wondering if they were just a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at a given moment. 

The last two weeks were lovely, quiet, like they were getting to know each other again. Distant and polite, they were holding onto a fragile thread. 

Maybe they’ll reach the end of it today.

“All I’m trying to get into that stubborn head of yours is that you don’t have a role to fulfill anymore. You don’t have the shield on your back, so stop feeling like a sack of shit,” Tony scowls, lips twisting downward. 

Even this, Steve will take. He feels hazy, like he’s watching the scene unfold. Tony bites, Steve barks, but this time there’s a difference. They’re older, battered, and Tony’s not raising his voice to match Steve’s testy tone.

Steve feels wrong footed, even though he should already know that he and Tony shouldn’t fall trap to old habits. 

And yet. 

Steve places the axe on the wooden stump. 

Who is Steve without a role? He’s trying to figure that out and Tony grazing his lesions makes him double down on his defense. 

“Well maybe, if you learned to talk nicely, I’d understand better,” he says, lips twisting like he bit something sour. “Is this how you talked to Pepper?” 

Steve regrets the words immediately and his heart breaks when Tony’s eyes flash in hurt.

He walks over to the stump and looks up at Steve. They’re inches apart. Tony smells of sweat and a day under the sun. 

“First of all, you don’t get to bring her into this. My relationship with Pepper is none of your fucking business, got that, Rogers? And who the hell are you to tell me how to talk nicely? You’ve never been diplomatic once in your goddamn life. You’re always ready to run through closed doors and red tape.” 

Steve tilts. Once again he’s sitting in an office facing Tony and they’re arguing about a piece of paper. “If you’re talking about the Accords…”

“Fuck the Accords! I didn’t even bring that up! See, you always assume to know what I’m thinking. You put words in my mouth and don’t let me finish talking.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in deeply. “Fuck, I swear to god, Steve, you make me regress. You know they say that arguing with your parents transports you back into being a child? That’s how I feel right now. God, can’t we just, I don’t fucking know,” Tony shrugs half-heartedly, “communicate. Use words. I heard those were good things.”

Steve nods meekly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay,” Tony exhales. “All I’m saying is you don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders. I see you. Struggling, and I’m just offering… I don’t know. I’m here if you need me.”

Tony trails, offering the palm of his hand. Steve stares, recalling the time a similar set of mechanical fingers closed into a fist and knocked him out. Tony sighs and drops his hand. 

He should have taken that hand, intertwined it with his own. 

Instead, Steve scratches his beard. “Kinda do. What’s the point in having powers if you can’t use it?”

“Do you exist just to be contrary?” Tony glares at him. “Then why the fuck are you here? You could be with Carol and the New Avengers if you’re so concerned.”

He sighs, not sure how to answer the question. He picks up the axe, sets it back down, only to pick it up again and slice a wedge. 

He can’t look at Tony. 

“I’m tired. I don’t want to be Captain America anymore. But sometimes, I feel guilty. It’s as if I should be doing something more than playing house.”

“Steve, don’t you think it’s okay to rest? We’ve been through so much. Then, and then, and then...there’s always something.” Tony shakes his head, “Neither of us want to stop. I get it. This quiet life? It’s nothing but a dream. At the end of the day, I know myself, I’ll want to run back, put on the suit. But shit, Steve, when you see the end of the universe and you wonder if your kid will grow up with a father, it kind of reminds you that you’re not invincible. We shouldn’t rest when we’re dead. If not, we’re not really living.”

“You know it all don’t you?” Steve flexes his hands, knowing that there’s truth to what Tony’s saying. It makes sense. Yet here he is, looking for a fight, settling back to familiar patterns.

“I’m not called a genius for nothing. I mean, I cracked time travel and saved the world. Wait, fine, _we_ saved it. I’ll give credit when it’s due.” Tony straightens, facing him. He must see something in Steve’s face because he nods twice then returns to the pile of crates. “I really can’t figure you out.” 

“You can’t categorize people and ‘figure them out,’ Tony.”

“Uh, yeah I could. Sociologists, psychologists, they do it all the time. It’s all data.” A muscle in Tony’s jaw juts out. “It’s just science.”

“Really? Well what does your data say about me?” Steve blinks, feeling wrongfooted. 

Tony is far away again.

 _Steve_ can’t figure _him_ out.

“That you’re an asshole.” Tony rolls his eyes then leans on the crates. “With a heart of gold. But you let your ego get in the way. You think you’re right. It’s got to be your way, or no way. Righteous bastard. You never bend.”

Steve grimaces. “Do you mean like you? Are you talking about me still?”

“Yup,” Tony pops, disgruntled. “Still about you.”

Steve grabs the pile of wood on his feet and brings it to Tony. They face each other in some sort of challenge, Tony grabs the pieces from Steve’s awaiting hands to stack them. 

Steve simmers, observing Tony organize the pile. He knows it’s not the right time for it, but he can’t help but notice how gorgeous Tony is. 

“Why do you do that? You say you want to talk, communicate, then you joke and say sarcastic shit. That’s not how people talk, Tony.”

“And you know better, Cap?” Tony arches an eyebrow. “You wear the colors of a flag, but it doesn't make you anything but a mascot.” 

“Don’t call me Cap,” Steve bites out, irritated. He’s not Captain America, hasn’t been for a long time. It’s a facade he’s trying to shed away and the reminder makes him clamp up.

“Steven, then,” Tony says lazily but his demeanor has shifted into something defensive. “You really think you know better? I’m just offering you advice. All I’m saying is that we can rest, and yet you attack it like a dog.”

Steve throws up a hand. “I wasn’t attacking what you said. I’m just saying I don’t know how! What do you want me to say? There’s still so much shit on my mind, Tony. I can’t forget it all. I remember each fight. The serum makes me do that. I can bury it all. I _have_ buried it all. But look what that’s done. I swallow it down until I can’t take it and then suddenly I’m throwing my shield and punching my way through something.” 

He shakes his head, feeling heat blossom through his cheeks and neck. “I’ve been alone my whole life. Since I was eighteen. I only had Bucky, and like hell, I fought to keep that. In the worst way, in the most selfish way. I made a mess of things. When you’re alone and you grow up with nothing, you fight like death to keep what you have. I know I made a mess. I know that _I’m_ a mess. I’m just trying to keep it together.”

“But you keeping it together seems to make it worse,” Tony replies without pulling the punches. He looks at Steve for a moment, then away, attention focused on the docks. “Did you really feel alone? When you woke up from ice and into this future, this life here, did you really feel like that? The Tower wasn’t enough?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. “It wasn’t that. The Tower was home. You gave that to me.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Tony smirks distastefully. The statement sounds like a question.

Steve stays silent, unsure of how to proceed. He drops his head. “It was and it wasn’t.”

“I wasn’t enough, full stop,” Tony seethes, eyes flashing. “It wasn’t enough for you, just admit it, Steve."

“I said, it _was_ but I don’t know. I needed more,” Steve admits. He runs a hand through his face and wishes he could lean his head over Tony’s shoulder. 

He’s goddamn tired of fighting. 

“But that’s not on me, Steve. If you tried…That’s the thing with you, Steve, you’re always chasing after something. You don’t even know what it is. Was it all worth it? In the end? So much went down after SHIELD fell. You burned bridges… you burned me.” 

“Bucky was my family. All I had left,” Steve offers, then all of a sudden feels like his foot is back in his mouth. 

Tony has that effect on him.

“Steve,” Tony grits out. “Is there no progress? Will we talk in circles for years? Fucking hell, Steve. It was _never_ about Barnes. Never. It was on you. Your lies, your omissions. If you don’t know that by now...” Tony kicks his feet at the grass and starts to walk off. “I can’t fucking do this. I tried. Get that, okay? I tried.”

Steve can’t breathe; it’s like he’s watching the snap happen again, but this time in slow motion. Tony moves and an eternity seems to pass before Steve can croak the words, “Tony. Wait, please,” he begs. “I do know. Hold on.”

Tony turns, arms to his side. The mechanical prosthetic gleams under the sun, prompting Steve to recall that this man solved time travel, _snapped_ and stared at the face of the Mad Titan. A man against the manifestation of death, Tony faces it head on. Doesn’t blink. 

Steve has always known that Tony was the braver man of the two of them. 

“I respect you. So much. That wasn’t what I meant. I’m sorry, I never apologized properly. I’m sorry…” he exhales, walking towards Tony. 

All he knows is he can’t watch Tony walk away. 

Steve continues, hands reaching for Tony who smacks him away. 

He blinks, surprised, but barrels on.

“I’m fucking sorry. That’s not what I meant. I’m… I’m still learning, okay? I’m really sorry, I’ll beg for your forgiveness for the rest of my life. You have to believe that. I’m trying to give that justice.”

“Do you know how to apologize? You just don’t say _sorry_ , you take ownership of your shit. Yeah, who am I to talk? My family sold weapons and I signed the checks. But hell, I’ve tried, all my life to be better. I’ve owned that, all of it. So, no bullshit apologies. _Do better,_ ” Tony hisses.

Steve knows that’s why the Accords were critical for Tony, a compromise before government powers decided on stricter measurements. He’s atoned for these mistakes, even using his own life and risking seeing Morgan grow up because it’s the right thing to do. 

“Can I at least explain?” He urges Tony towards the house. They could sit and face each other. Steve could get a glass of water and explain his points line by line. He’s thought of it a million times, turning over his mistakes the way Tony spins his holographic images. Steve’s poured over memories dozens of times, wondering where it all went wrong.

Steve offers a hand, a mirror of Tony earlier, but this time, Tony is the one that stares and refuses to budge. He drops his hand.

Logically, he understands the play by play of their demise as Avengers. They weren’t a good team, only coming together at the end of the world. Even short times in the Tower and Compound didn’t seem enough to sustain their ragtag group. Once he and Tony fell into a hole Steve dug, there wasn’t an opportunity for return.

Maybe there was. Maybe if Steve tried harder. Maybe if he wasn’t so interested in demonstrating his points and beliefs. No, naming the sin and calling it for what it is means ownership, and he isn't sure if he’ll survive what Tony says in response. 

“I didn't tell you about your parents because I thought I was sparing you. But it was really for myself. I'm a coward, through and through. That may not be what you want to hear, but it's true. I don't have excuses. I should have told you from the beginning, the moment I found out. But Tony, I've never been good.” 

Tony stares at him, eyes cold and unamused. Like the face of betrayal in Siberia. 

“You know, I didn’t think I was angry anymore. Then I remember that life doesn’t work that way. You can forgive people and still be angry, still wanna repulsor them in their perfect faces.”

“Tony,” Steve says, feeling both numb and impatient. He just wants Tony to forgive him. Tony said he already did, and rationally, Steve should just sit still and wait for Tony. He already promised himself that he’d give their friendship the justice it deserves. 

“I never said it.” Tony clenches his hands, probably trying to actually withhold punching Steve. “Because we were trying to save the world. But you have to know that I looked up to you. And you failed.” 

Hearing the word failure has Steve on edge. The pin drops, and blood rushes to his head. 

It’s a quiet day at the property. The birds are out, the lake stays still, and Tony Stark is alive and making him bleed without even touching him. 

He’s never liked being told _no_. Growing up with all the illnesses he had, he’s been rejected over and over. Captain America, once he was in missions, was accepted, lauded and casted as a role model. 

He clenches his jaw, accepting the statement. “I did. But…”

Tony shakes his head, frowning. “No fucking ‘buts.’ You just accept it, own it. There’s no use in justifications, it only invalidates what I feel. And you hurt me, Steve. You did. Fuck. Honestly? Fuck you,” Tony spits out the last two words. 

Steve suppresses the curses, tampers it down, tries to breathe even. “Tony, I’m not trying to justify. I’m trying to explain… can’t I at least tell you?”

“No, you have a way of picking at scabs and I don’t know, wanting them to bleed? I’ve already bled, Steve. For us. I can’t do it again. I’m tired as hell. I already know, you don’t even have to explain. You’re a coward, full stop,” Tony says this calmly, as if he’s thought of this before-hand.

Did he stay up at night replaying scenes of their past? The same way Steve closes his eyes and re-lives mistakes?

“And you’re not?” He swallows, annoyed at having his back against the wall. 

“Of course I am. But I’m not afraid to say it. I’m okay with admitting when I fuck up. But you? God,” Tony tuts, mechanical arm running through his face. “Why are we fighting again? What happened to simple and easy? Fuck, you really know how to push me. And I don’t want that shit, Steve. I really don’t. I don’t want to fucking _regress_. You know, I thought I had it figured out, coming here, trying to find peace. But then you open your mouth, and I just remember what anger feels like. Nevermind. I forgot that Captain America doesn’t know how to apologize.”

“And Iron Man is better?” 

Tony sighs, “I’m walking away before you say anymore. I’ll end up punching you, and hell, I don’t want that. You’re just looking for a fight, Steve. I seriously came here to ask about lunch and you have your shield up and read to throw it. ”

Tony stands, just a short distance away from Steve, frowning, eyes wide and brown. Alive. 

Tony turns his heels and Steve watches him go, step by step. 

“Tony, wait,” he has half the mind to say. The words sound like a demand.

Tony walks quickly, skipping over the set of stones lining the driveway. “Fuck off, Rogers. I get to walk away this time. And you get to watch.” 

“No, Tony, please, hold on.” Steve jogs up the bridge. Tony’s nearing his side of the property, and they’ll be divided by the lake. “Wait.” 

“What? All I do is wait for you. Wait for you to realize. Wait for you to wake up, wait for you to get your shitty head out of your dumb ass.” Tony turns, chin jutting out, lips twisting in a barely hidden snarl. “Sometimes, I really hate you.”

“You always do this.” Steve runs a hand over his face. 

“Do what? Say something? Point out where you’re wrong? You know, in the science community, people are usually grateful for that. It improves the experiment. I thought I was doing you a service.”

“Do we have to fight?”

“You started it,” Tony barks.

“I didn’t,” Steve argues, knowing that he’s at fault. 

“Ugh, I feel like I’m relapsing. This conversation is making me subvert commitments to wanting peace. I can’t do that, Steve, I have a fucking kid, I went through a fucking war and won, I can’t do this again. I was trying to say… I was just saying, okay? That you can rest, and that you don’t have to carry the metaphorical shield on your back anymore. I was just trying to help.”

Steve’s insides twist. “And you’re good at fixing people.”

“Mechanic,” Tony grunts. “It’s what we do.”

“Well, I don’t need fixing, so stop projecting on me.”

“Me? Projecting on _you_? Listen, all I was trying to say…” Tony shakes his head. Steve wishes they were back at his property so he can grab a log and rip it up, just for something to do. He knows they should talk. He doesn’t know why it’s gotten all cocked up.

Steves’s afraid, filled with anxiety. 

“What, Tony?” 

Tony puts a hand on the wooden rail, then faces the lake, away from Steve. “I’ve forgiven you, long ago. I can _still_ be angry, you can’t take that way. That anger belongs to me and you have to accept it. I just hate seeing you carry all this weight, after everything we’ve been through, you deserve to be happy. That’s all.” 

“Why do you even care, Tony?” Steve holds his breath, awaiting the answer. 

“God.” Tony throws his hand up. “You really don’t listen, do you? Some things just go from one ear, out the other. The serum didn’t do anything about myopia? You can’t see anything but your own wounds and you take the world’s as yours.”

Steve disagrees, falling back on old routines. But even his words and reasons are flat. “I see that I hurt you.”

“Yeah, you did. But _own_ it like a goddamn decent human fucking being. You’re making that hurt about you, not me. Not when you explain what went wrong like you’re doing a play-by-play of a mission report.”

Tony approaches him, steps slow. The sun drifts higher and higher.

“I know what you’re thinking. You blame yourself for it all. Just stop, okay?” Tony settles a hand on his arm. “You carry everything, the world's mistakes on your back as if you were the one who held the gun and pulled the trigger. It's not on you. That's what I'm saying.”

“So, what, you’re trying to save me, fix me?” Steve moves to the railing, closer to Tony. 

“Would that be a bad thing?” Tony whispers, a little crease appearing on the edge of his lips. 

“You can’t change people, Tony,” he gulps, vision swimming. He doesn't know what Tony wants. Steve will try, has been trying; he is already determined not to run away. Yet here he is, walls up, a suit of armor around him like he’s out in battle.

Tony scoffs, moving to lean his elbows on the banister. “I’m not trying to change you, I’m just saying, stop feeling like a sack of shit. We’re alive.”

“How can you be so patient?” 

Steve traces Tony’s profile, bright under the blistering sun.

Tony glances at him like he’s an idiot. He pushes off the railing and says, “Jesus, Steve, talking to you is like talking to a wall. Does it really hurt to take the rope and climb out of the well? We can try. Be better.”

“For who?”

“For yourself. Shit, you really got a complex. Who else would it be for? Let’s not hurt each other. I’ve spent life after the snap trying to be better. I really don’t want to regress, Steve. I’ve got a life, a family, a kid, and I...I knew you had a dark side, I just didn’t think it would be like this. Barbed. I thought I was supposed to be the cynical one. But you, refusing to accept forgiveness, you just torture yourself. It isn’t right… Soften your edges, otherwise, I can’t be here.”

Tony walks the path from the bridge into his house. Steve doesn’t know how long he stays standing there, sun burning his neck. It feels like punishment.

* * *

Somehow, he makes it back to his house. An empty room, really, with no one to share it with other than a specter who teases him. 

He can picture Natasha leaning against the counter, a smirk on her face. 

“Dumbass,” she’d probably say. 

He drops his head on the farm table, sitting on Tony’s spot, trying to picture how Tony perceives him. Bullheaded, yeah. 

In the evening, Steve lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t come. 

“I thought you’d watch my six,” he says to the empty room.

There’s no reply. No flashes of red to tease him.

Even his imagination has turned against him. 

Steve feels the warm tears well-up from his eyelids. He rubs at his nose, letting them fall.

He wonders if Tony had dinner. Why the fuck did they start fighting? They weren’t yelling at each other this time around. Tony stated his claims and demands from Steve calmly. 

No, Tony wasn’t asking any of him, just questioning Steve’s actions, and suddenly, Steve became defensive, and stepped into a familiar refrain.

He sighs, frustrated at the tears streaming from his face. 

A few days pass without Tony. 

Steve doesn’t keep an eye out, that would be weird. He isn’t trying to surveil Tony. But he can’t help the anxiety clawing through his chest every moment of the day.

He can’t lose this.

Not before anything even began.

They were doing well, joking and getting to know each other again.

Nothing can come easy, not between two men who have so much history it demands its own course. 

Tony doesn’t come up out of the house for days. Steve spends the mornings in the shed, doors wide-open, waiting. Hoping against it all that Tony would come.

He doesn’t.

Steve sits on the veranda, sketching projects in the afternoon, ignoring his lunch, and staring across the stupid, bloody lake. It winks at him when the sun hits it just right. 

He loves it. He hates it. He wishes it was gone. Yet, it’s the only anchor he has in his forsaken place.

He glares at it and attempts to capture its rivets and flows in a ballpoint pen.

Steve fails.

He tries again.

He fails again. 

The paper is smudged by his attempts of correcting a line. Maybe things are better left to be seen. His attempts to capture and envision it just results in a mess, dark ink sticking to the side of his right pinky.

Steve drags his ass to Izabel’s, opting for a meal and company.

The ride is quiet without Tony. Steve doesn’t bother turning on the radio, knowing there’d be nothing but static for the next six miles. He puts the windows down and drives the long, country backroad. He passes the almond trees until they’re a blur behind his rearview mirror, driving above the limit. Steve focuses on the turns, shifting gears when necessary, then he’s out at the outskirts of Tahoe, the little cantina just up ahead. 

He parks the car, the lot empty as it’s the time right before dinner where they’ll be prepping soon. He knocks on the door, a smile on his face.

Izabel answers with a grin, “Well, you look like shit.”

A laugh comes out. He’s been replaying the conversation with Tony the last four days and it’s breaking him. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Thanks, Iz.” Steve takes a seat in his favorite booth, lumping down the counter. It’s sticky with soda and smells of cheese. 

Izabel returns shortly, setting a beer, a burrito, and a bowl of salsa in front of Steve. She raises her eyebrow when Steve just stares. 

She snorts, then drinks his beer and dumps the entire bowl of _salsa molcajete_ on Steve’s _al pastor_ burrito. “So, something must be fucked if you’re not even eating. I made it fresh out. I worked all day to make it, woke up at five in the morning to start boiling the tomatillos,” she trails off, teasing.

Steve frowns, chewing on his lips. He leans back against the booth and watches Izabel. She has a burn scar on her index finger which she taps against the table.

“Tony,” Steve says eventually. 

“Ah,” she replies, taking another swing of the beer. 

She waits, eyeing Steve with a sharpness that reminds him of Natasha. Was this what Natasha meant when she said _I’ll watch your six_ and _see you in a minute_? 

Maybe. He’ll never know, all he can do is second guess and make extrapolations from what he can see with his own two eyes. 

“We got into a fight.” Steve grabs the fork and picks at the edges on the tortilla. It’s getting soggy. He really should eat it, but he can’t stomach anything right now. 

“Steve, I don’t get why you still talk to your ex?” She glances at the clock on the left side of the restaurant; it was just after three. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like Tony. He’s charming, I can see why you like him. But you really shouldn’t be --” 

“Iz, Tony isn’t my ex. We were never together,” Steve interrupts, before she can name any more assumptions. 

His face heats. 

“Well, you sure act like you’re two ex-lovers trying to make one more go at it." She shrugs a dainty shoulder, unaffected by Steve’s musings.

“If that were the case, then, I’m the bad ex. I was the one who lied… who hurt him,” Steve vocalizes what he’s always known, what he’s come to accept. Only if he could actually repeat the words to Tony. 

Tony’s right. Steve repeated their conversation again and again without fail, understanding his shortcomings. But there’s something missing, he thinks, something that doesn’t click. 

Not for Tony, but for Steve. 

“And yet, he’s here, Steve. Out of all the places in the world, he chose to move across from you, what do you think that means?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs, setting the fork down and pushing the plate away. He grabs the almost empty beer bottle and finishes it off, not giving a care that he can’t even get drunk. 

“Jesus, do you work hard trying not to understand things? Well,” Izabel laughs, a hand on her chin. “I guess this calls for some Margaritas. No, wait, better yet, let me open up the Corralejo. Come to the counter.” 

Steve grabs the plate and salsa bowl, makes his way to the kitchen’s swinging doors. He dumps the food into the garbage, and begins rolling his sleeves to wash the rest of the dishes. He did odd jobs before joining the army, and one of them was as a busboy in a diner. Before the serum, he was too short to reach the sink and had to use a step ladder. Now, Steve towers over and takes up so much space, even when all he wants is to shrink over and disappear. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know. Come on, get over, here, let’s drink,” she calls over, eyeing him from the door. 

“I’ll finish up, first,” Steve insists.

“Stubborn,” she shakes her head. Over the divide, he sees her pull out tequila and top off some six shots. “Estúpido.”

Steve focuses on the routine: rinse, scrub, rinse, until finally, all the dishes were stacked and placed on the shelves. Izabel shakes her head from the divide, waiting for Steve to finish. She has her hands on her hips, looking foreboding for a woman hovering five feet.

Steve dips his head at her admonishment. 

“Tell me everything,” she demands.

Steve wipes his hands on the dish towel, following Izabel to the bar counters and throwing back three shots after the other. “I love him. He doesn’t know.”

“I think he does?” She pulls an unamused face. “You’re not really subtle, you know.”

Steve shakes his head, “I never said…it was never the right time for us.”

“It is now,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I mean, I read the papers. It was an amicable divorce.” 

“It’s not just that, Iz. I hurt him, a lot. There’s things I can’t even begin to apologize for.”

“Yeah, well it starts like this: I’m sorry. You begin, you do the hard work of understanding where you went wrong, and you admit to it.”

Steve hums, “Yeah, that’s what Tony said.”

She sighs, pouring another. “I really shouldn’t be drinking right now, not when dinner is about to start, but oh well.” She winks at a teenager waitress on her phone, taking a lunch break. She turns to Steve, expression somber. “There isn't any glory in apologies. But things don’t get better until it’s said.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, “With Tony. I get it, I know where I went wrong, but somehow, he says something, and we’re back in time, arguing again. But this time, it was different.”

“What was different?” She inquires, tilting her head.

Steve takes the offered shot. He can’t get drunk, but he welcomes the burn down his throat. “We didn’t fight about the things I should apologize for. He told me I was a sorry sack of shit, that I carried a cross on my back.”

“You do act like a fucking martyr, not gonna argue there,” she quips with a smirk. “Come on, Steve, live. Take the suggestions, breathe it in, if it makes sense, change. If it doesn’t, breathe it out and go on with your life. Was Tony right?”

Steve swallows the lump on his throat, wishing he had another drink so he could do something with his hands. “He was right. Always is. I just didn’t know what to say. He said I needed to stop punishing myself, and accept the forgiveness.”

She eyes him. Her eyes are brown, but it reminds him so much of Nat. “Why do you deny yourself, then? If you say something about deservingness, that’s complete bullshit. You just accept it and live.” She flips her hair, cheeks tinted pink from the alcohol. “I started reading this book by a Swedish author, wait, I have it in my purse in the office. Hold on.” 

She raises a hand and swiftly leaves the room, returning with a dog-eared paperback. She grins, flipping through the pages. 

“Here it is, let me read it to you: _Everything has a breaking point, and even though people always say that ‘a joy shared is a joy doubled,’ we seem to insist on believing that the opposite is true of sorrow. Perhaps that isn't actually the case. Two drowning people with lead weights around their ankles may not be each other's salvation; if they hold hands, they'll just sink twice as fast. In the end the weight of carrying each other's broken hearts becomes unbearable_. Deep, huh?”

Steve bites his lip, thinking when his and Tony’s breaking point occurred. Then, it hits him the way people realize obvious things. It’s cyclical, really, the way life circles back to its beginnings. Howard, Maria, Siberia. Steve knows all of this, but registering it, digesting it, is a different thing.

He’s tried his damnedest the year after they snapped and brought back the missing half of the universe to process his life since waking up from ice. He wants to live. He loves Tony. He’s admitted all of this. 

And yet.

He stands at the edge of a cliff. Fuck it, let that cliff be in Vormir. Too afraid to fall. 

Izabel tuts, snapping him out of his reverie. “You can’t grab him by the ankles when he’s trying to bring you to shore. Oh, little white men." She taps his cheek with affection. “You’ll make each other drown.” 

“I think he was offering me a rope. He said he’s forgiven me. ‘Resentment is corrosive,’” Steve adds on the air quotes, “and he wants peace. I don’t know, I guess, if we don’t have that, I’m wondering what’s next.” 

“If he’s already forgiven you, why fight?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s what I know.”

“Knew, right?” She corrects him with a raised eyebrow. “Not Captain America, but Steve Rogers?” 

“Right,” he looks up and splays a palm over his forehead.

Steve breathes in, trying to center himself. Izabel’s smart, probably reading him like a book. She clocked him cover to cover the first time he showed up here with Augusto. 

Steve knows he holds onto things - memories, people, sins, mistakes - too tightly. He’s put down the shield, but he’s still learning how to move forward.

“He’s a mechanic. He fixes things. Tony’s a hoarder too. Doesn’t throw away anything from his workshop because he thinks they can be salvaged."

“Maybe he feels the same about your friendship. Just follow his head. Stark’s a genius, you’ll be fine. Trust me,” Izabel offers a small smile, “but if you’re really concerned, my cousin is a fortune teller and she’s living in Reno. We can take a trip there, get her to read your palms…”

Steve chuckles and stretches his back. “Thanks, Iz, but I’ve sort of reached a limit with people telling me my future.”

He’s lived in an assumed future, and has been nostalgic of a past that never existed. 

All he can do is think of now. Learn.

The way is to follow Tony.

“Just take what you have, and run with it, Steve,” Izabel smacks his hand on the counter and directs him back to the booth for an actual meal. 

* * *

Another week passes before Steve sees Tony again.

He’s out on the docks, legs criss-crossed over each other, trying for the ninth time to draw the set of jasmine trees on Tony’s property. When he looks up from his sketchbook, Tony’s on his porch, hands crossed over his chest, a picture of a gorgeous man who knows it.

Steve sets the pen down and waves.

Tony stares, unamused. 

Steve tries a smile, wondering if it looked like a grimace. He hasn’t had a lot of reason to smile, unless it’s to practice looking satisfied.

Tony cracks a small grin that turns to a booming laugh, then he’s bent over, clutching his stomach.

Steve dips his head, sheepish and embarrassed.

When he looks up again Tony’s halfway across the lake, flying in his suit.

He drops down with a thump, then, the nanotech quickly makes its way back to the reactor. Tony’s back in denims and a loose fitted SI t-shirt. 

Tony laughs, “You’re really shitty at this, aren’t you?”

Steve nods. “I’m awkward, too.” 

“Hey.” Tony kicks at Steve’s knee, not hard, but just enough to draw Steve from where he stared at his sketch. “Captain Handsome.”

Steve catches the sun on Tony’s crown. Tony’s all gray at the temples, but he wears it well.

“Hi." Steve settles his hands back and leans, just taking in Tony’s form.

“So I can call you Captain Handsome but not Cap? Hmmm, you’re a sucker for compliments, aren’t you?” Tony snaps his fingers. “Noted.” 

“Tony,” Steve coughs, trying to focus on his words. He tastes them clearly, but it’s like he has to shove a hook down his throat to fetch the words out. “I’m sorry for how I acted. I thought about what you were saying these last couple of days, and please, just know, I’m sorry. I said I wanted to talk the very first day, but talking also requires listening and I just wanted to get my piece out without actually understanding what you said.”

“So you really wanna do this now? Already? Jeez, you’re all direct and to the point, no small talk, nothing, straight shot. Let’s get it all out in the open, huh?” Tony sighs then plops down beside Steve. “Goddamnit, I really am getting too old for sitting on hard surfaces….Well, not that old, mind you. I can still make it work.” Tony winks like they didn’t just have a shouting match last week.

Steve picks at the hanging nail on his thumb, focusing on the annoyance rather than looking up to see Tony. 

“You alright?” 

“Do you always have to ask such difficult questions?” Steve says, grasping at straws. “How are you, Tony?”

“You know, I really wasn't trying to fight, Steve.” Tony flicks Steve’s thumb, the red fingertips a stark contrast with Steve’s own. He looks at Tony’s wistful expression. “I was just saying that I’m _here._ You can grieve... and that I'm here."

He blinks, eyes glassy. The view of the river is fuzzy. Something claws at his chest, a thing he can’t define.

Steve feels the weight of the words, turns it over in his head. He’s known that Tony would be there all along. But hearing it, naming it and letting it take root, rocks him. He follows the surface of the river before turning to Tony. “I know, Tony. I fell back to old patterns.”

“We all do. We go with what's familiar. Doesn’t mean it’s good for us,” Tony’s lips twist. “But we do it anyway.”

Steve nods, the movement mechanical.

He traces the lines on Tony’s hooded eyes. Brown. Earthy with a splash of greens.

“There you go again, carrying it all. I wish I knew what you were thinking.” Tony shakes his head, thoughtful. He puts a hand on his forehead to shade his face. 

“We can go inside, if you want,” Steve offers.

“No, this is alright. Nice to be under the sun. If you really want to talk about it all, then here it is.” He turns to Steve, mouth in a grim line. “You turned your back on us, Steve. If what you meant about family was true, you should know the Avengers were yours too. The disappointing thing is that you gave up at the first sign of trouble. I tried to handle Ross. I could have protected you.”

“I know,” Steve admits, pulling his feet to his chest and wrapping an arm around it. This was all said and done, a recycled conversation dredged up from the past. “But then again, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about that, right?”

Tony nods. “Politics is politics; ‘it’s all politics,’ they say. But what happened between us was more than that. You left me. Alone, after it all. You walked away.”

“I know,” Steve repeats.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you, Steve. I’m really not. You wanted to hash it out, and I guess I can’t say that _I’m here_ without talking about our past. There’s no way around it.”

Steve twists to face Tony, ignoring the sting in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll own it all, Tony. I will. Please. Believe me. I’m sorry.”

Tony squeezes his hand, intertwines their fingers briefly before drawing back. The touch leaves Steve’s skin burning. 

He looks at Tony, wishing the man didn’t pull away. Steve blows a heavy breath, wondering why love, in that moment, felt so much like rage and defeat. 

“I believe you,” Tony tests out, sounding like he’s choking on the words. “I don’t need explanations for why you never told me about my parents. I can make an educated guess, knowing who you are.” He turns, eyes fully focused on Steve. Tony swallows and grabs Steve’s hand again. “I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. Do you hear that, Steve? I forgive you. I’ll say it again and again until you believe it.”

Steve lets the tears fall. Two single drops before he wipes it away with his other hand. Steve will always carry regret. He accepts the damnation if this is the rope that gives him the chance to make amends. 

Steve grips Tony’s hand, a lifeline. “You're too good for me, you know that right? I know we shouldn't talk about deservingness, but you have to know that, Tony, you've got a big heart, you never close it even for all the times you’ve been hurt. For all the times I’ve hurt you. I'll try. I'll do better. I can't guarantee that everyday will be good. I’ve always been awkward. Too loud at the wrong times. Too quiet when I should speak up. But if you're giving me the rope, then, I'll climb up."

Peggy’s words echoes: Go live your damn life.

He took Nat's advice, built a home. Used his body to craft something stable, retire his fists into something other than brutality. But it didn't echo that doing the work of building a home meant opening it up to other people. Tony.

"It's a good view, from where I'm sitting." Tony grins. "You'll like it just fine, Steve, if you let yourself."

“I’ll try. I want to see that view too.” Steve runs a thumb on the side of Tony’s prosthetic, where their fingers were still laced. 

He breathes. In. Out. In. Out. 

Steve promised himself long ago that he’d always tell Tony the truth. Lies by omission are just as deceitful as lies themselves. Especially when the stakes are so high. He’s learning to let go of his pride and righteousness. Yet, Steve can’t stop the feeling of shoving glass inside his mouth when he admits, “I hate yelling at you. I always did. I’m sorry for when I did.” 

Some days Tony still makes him want to scream. 

“Well, you did it a lot.” Tony challenges with a raised eyebrow. 

It’s not supposed to be mean, Steve thinks. It’s just the truth, and Tony Stark had a knack for overcorrection. 

And Steve did. He knows. Tony just gets to him. Frustrates him endlessly to the point he raises his voice. He always regrets it after. 

But back then, even for a little while, they always sought each other, up on the rooftop. A place of solace where they can just bird watch. 

“To be fair, you never listen,” Steve drawls out with ease, feeling that, maybe, they were joking. 

“Yes, I do,” Tony counters with a grin. “I just don’t follow orders when it’s not within reason.” 

“We always seem to disagree on what’s reasonable.”

“No, not always,” Tony says, cracking a slight smile. “Besides, I thought we were flirting.”

Steve snorts, trampling down memories for the worst arguments. “That’s what you call flirting? You gotta brush up, then, old man.”

Tony pulls his hand away and rubs his temples with a self-deprecating grin. Gray suits him. 

He’s handsome, as always. Steve is weak for him.

“That’s what I’m saying. We’re too old to be yelling at each other, don’t you think? Leave that to the young ducklings,” Tony replies. “Let’s be happy, Steve.”

Steve thinks of Peter and the influx of young superheroes paving the way for the world’s reconstruction. 

Tony moves to the edge of the dock and pats the space beside him. He removes his sneakers and socks, then dips his feet in, grimacing at the temperature. Like a trance, Steve follows suit, removing his own work boots and sitting beside Tony until there’s only a couple inches between them. 

Tony bumps his shoulder. 

“Why did you come here? Out of all the places you could be, why here?” Steve asks. He looks at the lake, remembering the months he spent out here alone. 

“I want to be free, I guess. Nothing else for it. Even though I'll probably never have that. People like us, Steve, we’ll always be bound to the work because we love it. So I guess it was foolish of me to come here and think I’ll have freedom. And I’m goddamn tired, in all honesty. I’m tired. Fatherhood really changed me, Steve. Seeing the end of the world and trying my damndest to fix it and coming out alive… there’s no time for bitterness. I just wanna be happy. There’s still shit you and I are gonna have to work out that’s for sure. But that’s also _okay_. I came here, of all places. It means something, Steve.” Then, off-handedly, Tony adds, “Plus, I liked my old neighbor quite a bit. So, consider me sentimental?”

“Tony Stark? Sentimental? Never.” Though, in retrospect, Tony’s the one who could never part with his things, whether that’s the Tower, the bots, or his team. 

It was Steve who walked away. With that in mind, Steve’s face twists into a frown. 

Tony interrupts his thoughts. “And you, Cap?”

“Not Cap anymore,” Steve counters quietly. “Steve.”

“You’ll always be Cap.” Tony says it like a fact. The sky is blue, and Steve Rogers is Captain America. 

He was never brave; he wasn’t what the cowl and shield symbolized. Not by a long shot. The sky is blue, and Steve Rogers is a coward.

“Can’t escape him, huh?”

Tony shrugs. “The name sticks.” 

“Even without the suit? Even if I’m not brave?” Steve asks, holding his breath. 

A pause, as if Tony’s thinking about the qualms of the title. “You don’t think you are? The public only thought Captain America was brave because Steve Rogers was courageous first.” He sighs. “But, fine, Steve, then. Back to you, why settle here, in a place away from all the action. You never told me why you left. If you think you’re supposed to do something in the world, there’s your calling with the rest of the New Avengers. Don’t get me wrong, Carol’s doing amazing leading the new pack of superheroes, and the rebuilding process is going well, save for those annoying politicians in DC. But you could have done that too. Easily, no doubt.”

Steve chews on the inside of his mouth, mulling over the question. Tony catches his feet in the water and kicks it.

Steve nudges Tony’s toes. “I did what you told me to do. Get a life. Thought I’d start rebuilding here. It’s hard though, I thought, after I finished the house, I’d have something. But you’re right, at the end of the day, I’m alone, still mourning. It’s hard to strip off the shield on my back even when I know that’s the next step.”

And he couldn’t bear to be close to Tony without touching him and holding him close.

“You were always literal. I guess you still are.” Tony looks at him, traces his eyes, the slope of his nose, his lips. Steve sees all this because he’s doing the same to Tony, only, he’s greedy, and follows the dip of his chin to the lines of Tony’s throat. 

Steve bites his lip and swallows down the longing to press in closer to Tony. “And like you, I was tired. I _am_ tired. Of fighting, of being always on the go, never pausing to actually think about what I was doing and the repercussions of every mission. I’m just… I’m done, Tony. After the battle, I realize I spent the last decade trying to hold it together. I just want a simple life. I don’t know what that means though.” 

“Same here,” Tony says casually, nodding along. But Steve knows better, understand that this is Tony’s attempt to give him an out, not because he doesn’t want to talk about all the shit they need to talk about, but because, perhaps, he knows Steve, and understood what Steve needed. “Let’s start with something simple and easy then: lunch?”

“Lunch.”

Steve smiles in gratitude, looking over at Tony, who’s got his eyes on the lake. The lake, always the lake. It draws their attention. 

Blue, blue, a misty blue. 

Steve doesn’t feel as lonely watching the ripples of water with Tony by his side. 

Tony gulps quietly, still refusing to look at Steve. He wants Tony to shift closer to him, smile his way. 

Instead, Steve swipes his hands on the sketchbook, stands, and pulls Tony up and presses their bodies together. 

He’ll give in to his desires; he’s a selfish bastard like that. 

Steve wraps a hand to Tony’s waist, a mimic of all the times Tony lifted him up with the suit. Steve doesn’t let go until they're in front of the car and he has to run back into the house for his keys. 

When Steve returns to enter the car, Tony looks over at him with a small, secret smile, the one where the line of his lips are crooked to the left side. No teeth, just the goatee highlighting the redness of Tony’s lips.

Steve thinks, this is what easy feels like. 

He accepts it. Lowers his defenses. He stands at the end of the cliff and leans into it.

Maybe love feels like rage. 

But maybe love could just be jumping off a rocky mountain and smiling anyway. 

Love without restraint.

* * *

Since their talk at the docks, Tony’s been more free with his touch and affection. Steve, in retrospect, has always known that Tony likes to touch his friends, or at least, the people he trusted and deemed important. 

When they lived in the Tower, he used to muss Natasha’s hair in the morning. She’d bat his hand away with a glare, but pour him a cup of coffee anyways. He egged Clint on until one of them was in a headlock and Thor was always generous with giving Tony piggyback rides. Steve’s seen Tony several times cozy up next to Bruce in the lab, and when Rhodes was in town, they’d sit on the Tower’s communal floor with Tony’s head on Rhodes’s lap. 

Steve wonders if Tony was as carefree with him back then or if they’ve always had some fragile line separating them. 

When they were Avengers, they’d get into giant arguments in the field that left them both fuming for hours, only to find each other and sit side by side on the roof. Talking over the mission’s play by play quietly. Tony was always in Steve’s orbit then, as he is now, only it seems like Tony is inching closer and closer.

Steve’s heart clenches thinking about whenever Tony was near back then: close, but unattainable. 

It seems like the case now, years later. Yet, Steve’s still chasing things that are impossible.

Whenever Tony touched Steve, it was careful, measured. A pat on the back for a mission well-done or an affectionate punch in the shoulder. Steve, for his part, was too afraid to put an arm around Tony, anxious and dizzy with his desire to pull him close. 

And since Siberia, they’ve only had a handshake outside the old Compound. Nothing more. 

Steve trails after the fingertips on his biceps, the fingers that flick him. 

And so, Steve makes himself a little brave. He braces for it every morning, looks at his bathroom mirror and nods at his reflection. Every day, he’ll try his damndest to make Tony a happy man. 

It’s been about six weeks since Tony landed across the lake and they’ve seen each other on most days, as if they were living in the Tower again - seeing each around the property. Tony’s taken on working on a 1967 Camaro under the afternoon sun. 

The sight makes Steve bleed on a good day. Tony’s usually in a tank top, bent over the engine, arms greasy with motor oil and sweat. 

Taking a cue from Tony, Steve flicks him on the wrist when he wants Tony to pay attention, or when Tony deflects and babbles on about science, willfully ignoring Steve’s suggestion for a walk. 

When Tony demands lunch, Steve leads him to the truck with a hand on his back. 

Sometimes, they sit side by side on the docks, bare feet under the water as they watch bunnies run across the property and try to see who could find the most juncos and steller's jays. Steve tells Tony of just months ago, sitting on the same patch of grass, alone, eyes tracking fallen leaves.

As the sun goes down, they speak quietly about life after the snap, entranced by the push and pull of the waters.

Steve swallows down his fears and attempts to quell his anxiety.

Tony’s voice echoes in his head: _I’m here_.

He breathes deeply then puts a tentative hand on Tony’s metal elbow, pulling him gently to Steve’s own shoulder. 

He’s brave, he’s brave, he’s brave. 

He’s a coward. But he can pretend he’s brave.

Tony won’t let him fall. Everytime Steve jumped out of a building, Tony would always follow, and was always close enough to catch Steve’s arm and pull him against the Iron Man suit.

Steve grasps the ropes and allows himself to be carried. 

“You could just ask you know.” Tony scoffs but rearranges himself so he’s between the V of Steve’s legs, back firmly placed on Steve’s chest. “Remember, what I said?”

Steve nods, setting his chin over Tony’s crown. He swallows, gingerly setting both arms around Tony’s middle. “Simple and easy.” 

Steve holds himself still as Tony relaxes, finding it difficult to calm his heart. Slowly, he allows himself to lose control and enjoy the moment. The sunsets, all pale pinks, a hazy lavender. It’s dreamy and gorgeous and he doesn’t feel lonely at all. 

His eyes drift to the lake and he thinks of Pepper. Her misty blue eyes and strong conviction: Love him in the way he deserves to be loved.

Steve exhales, tightens his hold, and tries to remove the shield. 

It’s simple and easy. 

He feels this lightness in his chest one evening, after Tony’s gone back to his house, and Steve’s all alone in his bare living room. It’s certainly not the high of accomplishment that came with saving the world or even satisfaction after a good, hearty meal. 

It’s a light feeling that takes over him; he’s giddy, but content in the way he’s never been. Staring at the shadows the plants cast on his walls, Steve realizes that might be happiness. 

* * *

But everyday isn’t always happy or even _good_. Steve’s come to realize that happiness is just moments and fragments of life. He still gets nightmares of the battle and Thanos’s booming voice. He dreams of Tony falling to his knees as he wields the gauntlet and of Natasha’s _see you in a minute_. He wakes up covered in sweat, heart racing, alone in a bedroom filled with shadows.

He wonders whether Tony’s asleep and dreaming, or if he’s in the workshop, tinkering.

Sometimes, in his dreams, Tony dies after the snap and Peter carries his burnt body.

Other times, Natasha appears with a smirk, green eyes lively and knowing. Teasing. 

Steve still has trouble falling asleep and with restless energy, he reads in the kitchen and every so often glances across the lake and past the bridge to check if Tony’s still up. 

As part of their routine these past three months, Tony fetches Steve for lunch and they drive into town.  
After lunch, either at the diner or Izabel’s, they walk around town, go to the hardware store or the farmer’s market. One time, Tony suggests the apple orchards three towns over. 

They don’t hold hands but they walk close to each other as if tethered by an invisible cord. Somedays, they sit by the massive oak trees on Steve's side of the property and talk idly about Morgan and Steve’s woodworking projects. 

Steve still struggles with opening up about his experience on the run and all their years apart. His words come out jagged and forced. But Tony doesn’t disappear, he just looks at Steve with curiosity and acceptance.

“We have time,” Tony says when he sees Steve trying to wrestle words out. 

Steve’s not sure how lucky he got by having Tony. Forgiving him seems to come easy to Tony, unlike Steve who still holds onto these bitter, pointed parts of himself. Tony sees it all, grins, and says, “Fuck it, Steve. I wanna be happy. Can’t we have that?”

But mostly, Tony messes around in his workshop after their afternoon adventures while Steve works on his wooden projects. Lately, he’s been thinking about building a birdhouse for the jasmine tree in Tony’s yard. 

It’ll wither as fall turns into winter, but all pretty things meet death too.

Soon enough, it’s time for dinner and Steve invites Tony over like every night. They bicker. Sometimes their words become too pointed and Tony pushes off the table and walks out of the house. Steve's watched him leave multiple times, but every morning, like a promise, he returns for breakfast. 

Most times, Tony complains about Steve’s choice of vegetables but refuses to cook. Other times, Tony comes early enough that he helps Steve with the side dishes, but mostly, Tony sits on Steve’s counter and scrunches his nose, amused. 

But some days, Tony misses lunch, too focused on his project of the day. In days like that, Steve cooks up something at home, drops it at Tony’s house, and leaves him alone. Understanding that Tony may need space, Steve waits for Tony to seek him out. 

He doesn’t mind it, though. Steve’s alright with having days to himself as long as he knows Tony’s just across the way. 

One day, Tony misses both lunch and dinner. It’s not something to worry about but Steve frets around his living room until he can’t take it anymore. He crosses the bridge just as the sun meets the horizon.

Tony used to lock himself in the workshop for days. But then again, they’re older now, battered and weary, and lived through loss, so of course, Steve is slightly distressed. He’s scheduled his days around meal times with Tony and the thought of eating alone after so many weeks with company makes him queasy. 

FRIDAY lets him into the house. During the days Steve drops off food, he’s quick, in and out, careful to not force his presence upon Tony. It’s a delicate balance - to reach out, to pull him in while being concerned whether he’s demanding too much from him. 

But today, Steve plans to stay. He takes in the interior of the house. It’s spartan but has the touch of someone used to owning expensive things. The house is smaller than Steve’s, with the living room and the kitchen open to each other. 

There’s a small table near the open tables. It’s fitting for a small family. The living room area was minimalist in design, a TV and a couch with a work table set out on the side. Functional, but knowing Tony, there must be some tech along the practical designs. Steve can picture Tony working on his projects there while Morgan watches movies in the evening. 

Unlike Tony’s and Pepper’s shared lake house in upstate New York, this house lacks the coziness of being lived-in. 

Granted, Tony only recently moved in. He could use a plant or two hanging on the ceilings. Maybe a shelf filled with spider plants and little cacti, like Steve’s.

“FRIDAY? Where’s Tony?” Steve steps further into the house, catching a glance at some picture frames, a picture of Pepper, Morgan, and Tony in one, Peter and Tony with the former holding a Stark Industries certificate in another.

There’s even one of Natasha and Tony. It’s a photograph of her in the Tower without her stealth suit. She’s in sweats, leaning against Tony. 

Then, in a golden brass frame, there was one of Morgan and Natasha. 

All along the counters and bookshelves are photos of Tony with other people: Rhodey and Tony in MIT sweaters. Nebula glaring at the camera as Tony wraps an arm around her. There’s a photograph of Tony with another kid, who Steve thinks must be Harley. Steve’s never met him, only heard stories from Tony.

There’s one of Steve and Tony on the Tower’s roof. 

Steve feels a huge weight straining on his chest, worry and regret swallowing him whole as his vision becomes hazy. Tony's never given up on him–has kept Steve tucked in the center of the mantle with the rest of the people he cares about. His family.

Finally, Steve understands that he's been grieving the loss of their friendship and all the things they could have been. Thoughts filter through Steve's head as he stares at the photograph. He could have tried harder, be a better man. He's been living in a world of "what if," and it was complete shit. 

Fuck it, he’ll follow Tony’s mantra. 

Let’s give happiness a go.

“He’s in the basement, sir,” the AI interrupts his thoughts. 

With FRIDAY’s directions Steve opens the door to the basement.

Unlike the rest of the house, the steps to the basement are lined with sleek metal railings. The workshop is reminiscent of the Tower and Compound. There’s only one way to describe it: futuristic, like something from a Sci-Fi film. The lights are LED and pale blues, and Steve suspects he's scanned by FRIDAY as he walks down the stairs. 

The workshop’s doors are glass, transparent, opening as Steve walks towards it. The area is spacious with various projects scattered around several long desks. A holographic screen shows the time. It’s nearly 8pm.

There’s a lump by the sofa in the corner of the room. Tony’s tucked under a blue velvet blanket, sleeping. 

He stops short, panicked by seeing Tony’s eye shut, body unmoving.

Steve’s struck by the dissonance of the scene that greets him, like a punch in the face by Thanos himself. 

Tony's piercing scream and the flash of blues, greens, and yellows running up his suit.

Tony, barely alive, in the hospital bed after the snap. 

Steve feels bruised all over. 

He chokes on a sob and falls back on a work table. Steve breathes heavy, in and out. In and out. 

He has the rope. He needs to pull. 

With a determined nod, he straightens and walks to Tony’s sleeping form. 

He’s alive, breathing. Tony isn’t at the hospital. Steve isn’t waiting outside and looking at stains on the beige walls. He tries to center himself by counting the wrinkles lining the edges of Tony's lips. The crow's feet on his eyes. He looks at the mole on Tony’s left jaw. 

“FRIDAY, is Tony sick? Does he have a fever?” Impatient for the AI’s answer, he feels Tony’s forehead anyway. Steve pushes Tony’s slightly damp hair and watches the man’s eyelashes flutter. 

“No, sir. I suspect that Boss is just tired.”

“Did he sleep last night?” He sounds anxious even to his own ears. 

“No, sir. Boss was working on the suit’s upgrades and on Mr. Wilson’s wings and had several meetings with SI and the New Avengers. He’s been asleep for nearly 6 hours.” 

Steve nods, knowing that FRIDAY’s cameras are on him. He looks at Tony for another beat then kneels on the floor. Tony must be exhausted. He has half the mind to nag Tony about sleeping on time. They’re not as young as they once were. Even as a supersoldier, Steve’s tired and he’s aging.

“Hey,” Steve calls out, lips near Tony’s ears, hand on his forearm. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat? Do you feel okay?”

Tony turns, movements slow and languid. “Steve? What time is it?” He yawns, and shuffles further into the couch. He looks up at Steve expectantly. 

Steve doesn’t dare move from his position. 

“It’s about 8pm. You slept the day away. Are you hungry?” 

Tony shakes his head, mumbling, “No, c’mere.” Grabbing Steve’s hand, Tony pulls him close, so Steve doesn’t have a choice but to sit on the edge of the couch. Tony makes a tutting, irritated noise, and forces Steve down so that they’re lying side by side. 

Tony’s facing the plush fabric of the sofa, while Steve holds his body close by. Not touching. 

His skin prickles with desire to settle a hand on Tony’s hips, to pull Tony close to his chest, so Steve could tuck his head right under Tony's shoulders.

He listens to Tony’s breath. In and out. Steady. 

“I had a bad night.” Tony clears his throat, shoulders sagging into the cushions, “or morning, I don’t know. I had a dream about the battle. Being in Afghanistan. Jesus fuck, it’s been over a decade and I’m still dreaming about it.” 

Steve can’t see his face, but the words come out sounding bitter, Steve guesses Tony’s stressed and broken up about it. “It’s just annoying. In hindsight, I’m well-aware that healing isn’t linear. There’s good days, shit days, okay days, happy days. Then there’s falling out of a wormhole and dreaming of an ugly purple alien destroying the universe. Shit.”

“Tony,” Steve starts, not knowing what to say. 

“Comfort me, Steve. That’s what you’re supposed to do next.” 

“How?”

Tony chuckles. “You’re really bad at this.”

“I know.” 

“Just hold me.” 

“Okay.” 

Steve, channeling that infamous Captain America courage–or recklessness–goes for what he wants and settles a hand on Tony’s waist then nestles in closer, hoping that the touch is welcomed. 

Tony doesn’t try to remove his fingers, so Steve settles, nudging a bit closer to Tony’s back. 

“Would it help to talk about your dream?” 

“I guess,” Tony says, sounding petulant.

“What happened?” Steve presses in a bit closer, mumbling the words over Tony’s hair.

Tony snorts softly. “As far as dreams go, it’s all jumbled up and confused now… There was darkness. Maybe I was being dunked into water, like in Afghanistan. Then, suddenly, I’m in space. Unable to move. The suit isn’t working.”

“I’m sorry, Tony.” Steve begins to rub small circles on Tony’s mid back. “That sounds awful. Scary.”

“It was. My nightmares have subsided recently,” Tony says, “So that’s good. I just keep thinking that I’m alive. That’s all that matters, Steve. Not saying I won’t be haunted because I know I will. For all the shit we’ve been through, I just want to be okay. I think I deserve that.”

“You do,” Steve insists. 

“We deserve good things, Steve.” Tony shrugs, as if the statement didn’t hit Steve’s core.

Steve swallows. Maybe he could have this. 

“Okay.”

“Yeah? You’re not gonna fight me on that?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head, nose to Tony’s hair. They’ve never been this close, not until this moment.

“Okay, good, good,” Tony laughs, then pauses. “You believe that, right? That we can have good things?”

“I’m starting to,” Steve murmurs, staring at the muscle of Tony’s neck. 

“Like I said, stop being a sack of shit.”

Steve laughs, surprised at the deadpan when he really shouldn’t be - Tony always has a way of making light of seriousness. It used to annoy Steve when they first started working together, but now, he realizes that Tony doesn’t mean to be rude. Rather, Tony’s trying to ease the heaviness of their conversation away. 

“Enough about me. If we keep talking about me and my nightmares, we’ll be here all night.”

“You can tell me more, if you want,” Steve says, wanting to learn all about the parts of Tony he doesn’t know. 

“I’ve already said it,” Tony huffs. “How about this, next time I have a nightmare, I’ll barg into your house and interrupt your beauty sleep and demand you make me some pancakes and hot chocolate so I can feel better.”

“Will breakfast in the middle of the night really help?” Steve tightens his hold on Tony.

Tony hums. “Yeah, I suppose, the company too.” 

“Okay, I’ll make you pancakes next time you have nightmares,” Steve promises. 

“Do you still have nightmares?” Tony asks, “What should I do when you have them?” 

“You can just hold me too. I...Uh...I think about that day, the battle, often. Sometimes I hear your scream in my dreams,” Steve confesses, feeling the weight of his words. “There are days I feel numb. Sometimes I think it’s better than feeling like shit. But then, in the days I feel numb, I grow apathetic and listless. I think there’s no point to it all. Those are the scary days for me. Because if none of it mattered… if what I’ve done means nothing. Then… I’m nothing, too.”

Steve mutters the words, clear and without second thoughts. He doesn’t try to bite the words away like his usual way of doing things. Instead, he discloses to Tony, the thoughts coming easy and without caution or self-consciousness. 

He promises himself to never lie again, to tell Tony his truths. It’s hard, but not as difficult as Steve expects it to be. He knows Tony will listen without judgement. 

Simple and easy.

“You spent all this time thinking that? Here, alone?” Tony murmurs. And because he’s always been braver than Steve, Tony turns to face him. They’re just a few inches from each other. 

Steve inhales Tony's scent, the smell of sweat and oil, and stares into his eyes. They are wide and clear, despite just waking from sleep.

Steve nods mutely, holding his gaze and willing his heart to stop racing.

“You’re not nothing, Steve,” Tony admonishes and flicks his forehead. 

“I’m just a man with serum running through his veins. Used as a weapon. Tossed around by governments for loans,” Steve replies, bitter. “I want to be more than that now, Tony.”

It’s resentful, but he’s mostly feeling fatigue and resigned to how his life after the serum turned out. The crusade for justice is still there. He still believes in what is morally right, but he’s tired, so damn tired.

He just wants to stay with his arms around Tony, nestled in a peaceful house away from the world. Drink coffee made in a pot in the morning, set on a routine - one he’s happy with. Simple and easy. 

It’s selfish and not the M.O. of Captain America. 

But he’s not that anymore. 

He’s just a man.

Tony flicks Steve’s forehead again. The blow is light, but his words are vehement. “You’re a man with dreams. Loyal to a fault. You’re a good man. Don’t think otherwise.”

“Same to you then,” Steve retorts, a smile forming on his lips. 

They laugh. This close, Steve sees the tiny freckle under Tony’s left eye and the new lines that formed beside it. Tony reaches for him, settles in closer, the movement making Steve’s vision blurry until he realizes he’s tearing up.

“Am I good enough for you?” The question sounds like a plea. 

Tony shakes his head, bottom lip quirking before it disappears behind his teeth. He bites, “You shouldn’t ask me that. You should be good enough for you.” 

Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that. He pauses, then says, “You’re right, you know. About healing, getting better. It’s not linear. Some days are paralyzing, but… it’s getting better,” Steve says. 

He clenches his fingers on Tony’s hip and sits with the overwhelming feeling that he’s alive, when so many others have died. 

But Steve would take the bad parts, the shit days, the nights with haunting nightmares if it means having good days with Tony. 

Simple and easy. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Tony hums, fingertip tracing the slope of Steve’s nose. “What is it?” 

“Why are you… why do you let me touch you? How are you not disgusted by me? How can you look at me and be okay? And let me be in your vicinity after everything that happened?” 

The words come out jumbled and broken up. 

“Well, sometimes I look at you and I still want to punch you in your perfect teeth,” Tony sighs, dropping his head into the cushion. “For a lot of reasons. I think, when you grow up with the palm of your father’s hand smacking your face, you kind of don’t wanna be like that. At least, I don’t. I don’t ever want my kid begging for affection. Not like how I did. So, I’m free with it. I don’t have a reason to withhold it. I don’t want to.” 

Tony’s lips quirk; Steve focuses on the sight. 

“I’m sorry Howard did that.” 

Tony shakes his head. “It’s done, Steve. There’s really no other place to go but forward. Besides, what’s the point in resisting what you want?” 

Steve scrunches his nose as Tony’s index finger pokes the tip of it and earns a laugh.

“And besides, it’s a reminder that you’re not alone. That I’m here. And you’re here. We’re alive and you’re real. Material. I can touch you with my bare hands and confirm that we made it, Steve.”

Steve squeezes Tony’s hip, feeling the warmth through his shirt. He feels Tony’s breath on his face. Real. Alive. 

And so it begins.

The words leave his mouth quickly. He tells Tony about seeing flashes of red after the battle and returning the stones. He restates the Ancient One’s question, _did you feel doomed after waking up from the ice?_ He asks Tony if falling with Valkyrie was worth it. “It seems like it was for nothing when you wake up and the world is still a mess.”

“The world will always be a mess. We’re just human. Shit, even aliens from other planets are dealing with their own messes. But, we _try,_ Steve. We keep trying to do better,” Tony replies, fingertips catching the tears falling from Steve’s eyes. 

Once the stories begin, he can’t stop, Steve heaves and exhales with the weight of the memories. He describes Vormir and the desire to grab a paint brush and paint the colors of its sky. 

Steve recounts the conversation with the Red Skull and his parting gift: an encounter in the soulworld.

“Nat. I saw her on Vormir. Or the soulworld.” He shrugs, not really comprehending the magic of the stones. “But she was there.” 

“And how is she?” Tony whispers.

Steve smiles softly, his entire body on fire as Tony’s eyes well. “We sat under a tree and talked about you.”

“Naturally,” Tony says with a wobbly smirk. 

“She misses you.” 

Mimicking Tony, Steve presses his index finger on the corner of Tony’s eyes, stopping the tears from streaking his face. “I miss her everyday. I was angry at her for a long time, Steve. But damn, I miss her know-it-all attitude.” 

They remain quiet for a while, just breathing each other in, perhaps looking back on shared memories with Natasha. 

She followed Steve after Siberia. 

He needed her then. 

But perhaps, Tony needed her too. 

“We’ve lost a lot,” Steve says.

“We have.” Tony chews his lips, a line appearing on the space between his eyebrows. “You never called,” Tony says, like he’s been stewing these words for a long while. Steve knows that tone, it rings of accusation, like the time he fell in the Potomac and refused Tony’s calls. “Not with the stupid flip-phone. But after you returned the stones...you never called. You just left the hospital room and you didn’t come back. I thought I lost you again.”

“I didn’t think you needed me. You had everyone there. Your life. Your wife, kid. There wasn’t much I could offer,” Steve admits, knowing he never picked up the phone and called after leaving Tony cold and alone in Siberia.

Another strike. 

Everytime he picked up his cell and typed a message to Tony, he felt nauseous, only seeing Tony in the hospital room, eyes closed, body akimbo, and missing an arm.

Tony snorts, scrunches his nose in distaste. Then says, casually, “You fucking idiot. Of course, I needed you. Still do.” 

The admittance tilts Steve’s axis and twists his chest. Tony says the words unmeasured, almost in a brusque manner, so it must be true. Factual.

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, so don’t forget. Eidetic memory, right? So say you’ll always remember.”

“I’ll remember, Tony,” Steve promises, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“You weren’t. You weren’t there,” Tony says, shoulders slumping. “Not for the battle with Thanos the first time around. Not after I woke up. When you came upstate and said you needed me, I said no, but I came to you anyway. But when I needed you after the battle - after we won, you weren’t there. You disappeared.” 

He can’t deny the truth to the statement. Tony went to space and faced off a Titan without Steve watching his six, fighting beside him. 

Steve swallows, body shaking with the force of the sob that comes out of him. “Tony. Fuck. I’m sorry. For it all. For everything. I’ve fucked up, I _will_ fuck up, but damnit. I didn’t know how to talk to you, what to say. I always put my foot in my mouth and then we fight. We _did_ fight --”

“No, we talked. Calmly. With raised voices.”

Steve huffs, a slight smile on his lips. His vision is blurry and his face is wet. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Tony.”

“So let’s not fight.” Tony shushes him, “Stop now. I’m not saying this for you to apologize, I’m saying so you know.” Tony wipes at his face. “Don’t leave, okay, Steve? Pull on the rope, and know that I’m here. Don’t walk away this time, alright, Steve? Don’t disappear.”

Steve inhales deeply. “I’m here. I’m here,” he says over and over again. “Tony, I promise. You gave me the rope, so I’ll climb out. I’m not leaving this time.”

Steve stares at Tony, tracking a fallen tear from Tony’s cheek. “I wanted to call. I tried so many times, Tony. I picked up the phone, wrote a message, then erased it. I didn’t know what to say. Nothing was enough. I’m no good with words.”

“Yes, you are. You always know what to say,” Tony mutters.

“For missions,” Steve replies. “But I’m always lost for words when it comes to you.” 

“Is that a good thing? A bad thing?” Tony offers a smile, “Come on, honey. Let’s be happy.” 

How can Tony make Steve’s heart stop with one word? Honey.

He breathes, eyes welling up. 

Steve doesn’t verbalize the apologies but he vows to make amends. 

Give love what it deserves. 

“Okay, I’m here. I’m here now.” 

“Yeah,” Tony yawns, smiles, satisfied with the answer. “You’re here. With me.” 

“I am.” Steve draws him closer, pressing further in. He tucks his head over Tony’s and inhales. Steve feels Tony’s breath on the column of his throat. 

“Are you hungry?” Steve asks.

Tony shakes his head, pulling Steve deeper into the sofa and arranging himself so Steve holds Tony from behind, spooning him. Steve wraps his arms around Tony, reveling in the contrast between Tony’s flesh and his metal arm. 

It’s like hugging Bucky, but this is _Tony,_ who is so fundamentally different from his childhood friend. Tony’s a warm weight around Steve, grounding him to life. Reminding Steve of all the things he has to live for and _with._

Steve’s hungry. The food on his table is turning cold. But he can’t find himself to care. 

He snuggles closer to Tony and closes his eyes. 

Late in the evening, when he returns home to an empty house, surrounded only by his plants, Steve still feels the weight of Tony’s companionship and the phantom flicker of Tony’s fingertips against his wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slammed with work stuff all week, but I'm very much looking forward to reading your thoughtful comments. Some of you have written me some long comments, and I treasure them so much. 
> 
> Make the author happy and share this story with a fandom friend? (✿◠‿◠)
> 
> Thanks again, so much, for reading and the love given to this fic.


	6. Chapter 6

They drive back to Lover’s Lane with the windows down. Steve especially likes the route from the town to the lake house because of the winding road. It’s filled with turns and the trees are endless. 

Beside him, the wind ruffles Tony’s hair. He’s sated from lunch, inspecting the jars of honey and jams they purchased from the market.

Tony turns his body towards Steve, rearranging the seat belt to stare at him.

Steve smiles, looking at Tony before glancing back to the road.

“Did you have a nice time in town?” Steve asks, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the space between them.

Tony flicks it and snorts. “God. This is so domestic. I didn’t think I’d like it, you know? Living away from the city. But it’s nice. The quiet. I had time to get used to it at the upstate property. I mean, in Malibu, the beach house was isolated, but the city and the bustle of LA was just a drive away. Here though, we’re just...I dunno. Tony and Steve. People don’t pay us any mind.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “We get a chance to just be...normal, I guess.”

“It’s still an adventure.” Tony shifts back, body facing the road. “Do you like it? How our lives have been so far?”

“Since being here?” Ahead of them, a jeep passes filled with teenagers with its rooftop down. “I do. You have a lot to do with that.”

“Who? Me?” Tony laughs, sounding pleased. 

“Yes, you. Always you,” Steve admits, turning to glance at Tony again.

Steve’s finally figured out how to express the yearning inside him. 

“Eyes on the road! Well, you know, if you finally relent, I could install FRIDAY into the system and you wouldn’t have to focus on the road. She’d drive for us and you can stare at me all you want.”

Steve chuckles. “So you’re saying you like me looking at you, huh?”

“Why not? I’ve been told I’m handsome.”

“You are,” Steve replies, pulling into the property. He misses the way Tony’s cheeks flush slightly at the compliment.

Their talk at the workshop a week before shifted something between them, as if the conversation was a promise to communicate. There were still moments of hesitancy, like when Steve oversteps and can’t help but pick at their scabs. Or when Tony is being sarcastic and Steve gets defensive because he doesn't get the joke. For the most part, they’ve reached some sort of quiet understanding. Things weren’t all sunshine and rainbows, but being together again, in each other’s vicinity, is its own type of magic.

They argue, as usual, as if they were still in the Tower or Compound bickering over missions, only this time their arguments are pedestrian regarding food and the washing up.

“What do you want to have for dinner?”

“Not trout.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t feel like dealing with fish tonight.”

“But I went to town just to get it because you said you craved fish.”

“Well, I want steak now.”

“You drive me insane.”

“No, you drive me insane.”

Usually, they'd laugh about it and Tony would smirk and say, again and again, “This is domestic, I like it.” 

Steve didn’t think he’d get to have domestic, yet, here’s Tony Stark, giving it to him.

So yeah, sometimes, Steve doesn’t know where they’re heading with all the time they spend together. But he finds he doesn’t mind the uncertainty, not any more. He’s more than happy to just follow Tony’s lead. 

Tony is easy-going, as if they didn’t have all this time and space between them. He’s assured that their lives will be fine; he tells Steve this every night, like a mantra.

Everything will be fine, Steve repeats to himself.

Steve shuts the engine off and turns to Tony. “You fancy a ride on the canoe?” he asks, hands still on the steering wheel, trying not to look like a school boy. He feels the heat on his cheeks and ignores it.

It sounds like he’s asking Tony for a dance.

“How are you real? Fancy a ride,” Tony huffs a laugh, hopping out of the truck. “That’s cute, Steve, very cute.”

“Well, you did say something about feeling like you were in a Victorian novel.”

Tony smirks, shaking his head. “Jesus, well, I guess it just needs to rain and we can reenact _Pride and Prejudice._ ”

“I’ve seen that,” Steve replies, walking beside Tony. “Are you Elizabeth, then? Smart and quick-witted?”

“Hell no, we definitely share that, but I’m rich, so I’d be Darcy. Obviously.”

“Uh huh, obviously.” Steve rolls his eyes. 

Steve scratches his beard distractedly as they walk to the docks. He painted the canoe red last week. For no reason at all, other than the fact that it’s his favorite color.

Tony smiles at the finished product when they reach the edge of the lake. “Mine was blue.” 

“I remember.” Steve nods, wondering how many times Tony wandered around his property and if Pepper sat across from him and laughed and joked and smiled. And…. Steve shakes his head, focusing instead on Tony walking beside him. There’s no use in comparison. 

Steve bends, grabbing the side and hopping in. He offers Tony a hand. "Ready?"

Tony gets in and they rock gently. He stays quiet, watching Steve unknot the ropes binding the canoe to the dock. 

Steve doesn’t mind. He tries not to feel self-conscious. Tony’s watching him, and Steve observes him in return with a smile. He pulls out the paddles, offering one to Tony.

Tony leans back, exaggerating and swatting Steve’s hand. “Nope. All you, Captain. This is your boat. I’m just enjoying the ride.”

“Brat.” Steve laughs. He ends up taking both paddles and rocking them away. 

They face each other, the late afternoon sun atop their heads. Snow would start on the mountain peaks in a month or so, and soon, the snow would make it to the property grounds. According to Izabel, the last few years were mild winters, barely snowing. Climate change, she said.

Thus far, summer is endless. The sun beats at their necks. If Steve didn’t have the serum, he’d be as red as the Iron Man suit. Tony though, just tans, skin shifting to an olive tone. 

“Hey, so,” Tony begins, all cool and nonchalant, though Steve can tell he’s gearing up for something serious. 

“Yes?” Steve smiles, encouraging him to continue.

“Morgan’s coming for the weekend. I’ll take her back to San Francisco with Pepper Monday night.” 

Steve nods. Morgan usually comes Friday mornings until Tony drives her to San Francisco Monday afternoons. 

While she’s here, Steve typically stays home, working on projects or sketching. Or, he’ll hang out at the cantina with Izabel, drinking even though he can’t get drunk. He stays for the town gossip. It takes his mind from wandering about what Tony and Morgan are up to. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with us. We could take her to the beach. Have a picnic...maybe? If you want.” Tony taps his fingers on the seat, leaning forward. “You could finally meet Morgan.”

“I’ve already met her, though.”

“Don’t be obtuse. It’s not cute,” Tony mutters with a frown. 

“I’m not,” Steve replies. “Uh, Pepper won’t mind?”

Tony tilts his head back, at ease once more. “Why would she?” 

“Because I’m spending time with you… and your daughter,” Steve says carefully.

“Steve. You live across from me, we spend most of our days together, minus the time with Morgan. Don’t you think it’s kind of weird to not be together those times that my daughter is actually in town?” Tony leans forward, rocking the boat. “Uh, do you not wanna meet her?”

“Of course, I want to meet her. I mean, Tony, I have met her before. When Nat, Scott, and I came to visit you upstate. And then, in the hospital.”

“Yeah, I know that. But I just mean… ugh, you’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Tony scoffs. “Okay, Steve. I’m saying spend time with us. Come meet my family. Be part of our lives.”

“Just like that?”

“Why should we make it difficult?”

“Right.” Steve smiles.

“Yeah.” Tony shrugs. “Not when we can have simple and easy, right?”

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve steers them to the edge of the property, there’s an unmarked trail lined by pine trees he’s hoping to show Tony. 

“Oh shut up.” Tony glances at him, eyes covered by sun glasses. He leans back on the bow seats. “Steve, you know what would make us go faster?” Tony has a mischievous smile on his face. He waves his fingers from the prosthetic arm. 

“No, Tony,” Steve chuckles, but even the denial sounds bland to his own ears. “No, don’t you dare. We’ll topple off.”

“We won’t, Steve. It’s just physics, anyway. I’ll calibrate and account for both our weights.” He wiggles his fingers, then dips it into the water and splashes Steve.

Steve shakes his hand, grinning. “Can’t we just enjoy now?”

“But we’re moving so slow!” He throws up his hand. “I could fly us there too, you know.”

“We’ll be there soon enough.” Steve stares at Tony, cataloguing his tanned forearms, lighter hair. “Didn’t you say we have time?”

“Fine, fine. You don’t need to throw my words back at me.” Tony smiles. 

Steve wishes he could see Tony’s eyes. He flexes his arms, back and forth, moving the canoe along, then stopping it once they’ve reached the set of trees. “There, you see them? Swallows.” Steve points at the trees. "Hey, look. There's a songbird."

Tony tuts. “Oh, so you finally know the difference between that and a hummingbird, huh?” 

Steve tries to copy the hums of the American Robin and fails. It sounds like he’s giggling instead. 

They’re bird watching together again.

It hits him in his core that the last time they did this together was years ago, right before DC.

He gulps and focuses on the humming around them.

The canoe rocks. The wind blows. Slow, as if trying to caress them.

Sometimes nature is lovely, sweet, and Steve wonders why humans try so hard to domesticate it for their own needs. Sometimes things should just be.

“You still have that place upstate?” Steve adjusts his cap for something to do. He’s curious as to why Tony moved to California, out of all places. 

“It’s there, yeah. I didn’t want to stay though.” 

“Why not?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. “Because it’s the place I built a life with my ex-wife and while I love her, I don’t want to wake up everyday in a house we spent years of our lives in.” 

Steve wishes he didn’t have two paddles so he could reach for Tony’s hand. Hold him, offer him some comfort. Instead, he nods.

“That’s understandable.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “And I was tired of dear old New York. I wanted more sun. California… it’s great, you know? You drive a couple of hours, you’re by the beach, you drive, you drive, and you drive and then you’re in a city like San Francisco or Malibu. I wanted another lake house, I guess. I had this place to come home to.”

“Did...did you know I was here, Tony?” He stops rocking the canoe, content with the scene before him: Tony, framed by the pine trees. 

“Yes,” Tony replies easily.

Steve tries not to choke at Tony's certainty. 

“And you still came?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Yeah, it seemed like a stupid question. Tony had property here. He didn’t come here just for Steve. But a little part of him entertained the idea that maybe, Tony thought they could live across from each other, side by side. 

Steve didn’t think he could be with anyone without shared life experiences.

And him and Tony? Their threads are so intertwined that it’s impossible to see where their lines begin and end. 

“Dunno. I guess I was wondering if me living across from you would be a deal breaker.”

Tony laughs, mouth crinkling. Steve imagines his eyes are bright with amusement behind the sunglasses. “Don’t sell yourself short, you old sack of shit. Steve, seriously. You living here _was_ a deal breaker, but not in the way you think. I came here because this is where you’re building your life. And I guess, I had nowhere else to go. Yeah, yeah, being an old man got me feeling sentimental. Coulda gone with New Avengers, but like I said, I’m tired as fuck and you’re the closest thing I have to...er, a normality, I guess, outside of SI and being a superhero.”

“You’re being honest.” Steve keeps paddling, glad for the mechanical motions. If he didn’t have the paddles to ground him, he’d probably fall on top of Tony and do something stupid, like kiss his forehead and keep him forever.

“I always tell the truth,” Tony replies easily, smiling as if it was a joke between them.

“No you don’t.” Steve smirks. He lets go of a single paddle then flicks Tony’s wrist. “You could be anywhere, you know. You could go anywhere.”

“Yet, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Steve replies, heart in his throat, belly burning at the thought. 

Out of all the places Tony could be, he chose to live across from Steve. Steve smiles, both in yearning and contentment. 

They talk idly about Tony’s request for dinner, his projects, and Steve’s plants. It’s all so boring and normal. 

He didn’t think he and Tony were the type of people to settle, to not chase the fight. Maybe they’re both still learning to let go of the shields behind their backs. 

Neither of them have let go. Maybe they won’t ever, Steve thinks, but they’re moving on. Out of the woods with mourning, though he suspects that life, despite all its greatness and promises, could still be melancholic. 

In any case, Tony sits across from him, points at the swallows, humming, and suggests that Steve paints again.

And it’s all fine.

Before the sun sets, Steve takes them back to the docks. He lets Tony off first and ties the canoe to the dock. Tony offers him his prosthetic hand. Steve smiles in thanks and allows himself to be lifted up. 

Tony sticks out his tongue, when Steve jokes about the Iron Man arm making him strong enough to lift a super soldier and Steve laughs, happy.

He doesn’t let go of Tony’s hand. Instead, he looks over in question, glancing at the answering smile of Tony’s lips. 

“We’re finally home.” Tony squeezes their intertwined fingers. 

“Yeah, we are,” Steve agrees, bringing Tony’s hand to his lips and kissing it. 

Tony bites his lip at the movement. Steve thinks, desperately, that the kiss made Tony happy.

* * *

Life goes on.

They do go to the beach on one windy morning, too cold for a swim. But they feast over fruit and some PB&Js as Morgan makes sandcastles. 

Steve spends the following three weekends with them. Tony finds it incredibly entertaining that Steve gives in to most of Morgan’s requests. 

“Wow, if I knew that having a sweet little brown eyed daughter is all it takes for you to do something, then I would have had Maguna ages ago.” Tony smirks. 

The weekends are filled with Tony’s rambling science talk and Morgan’s giggles.

Steve can’t help but feel grateful for the company. 

Tony’s allowing him into his family. 

Some evenings, he lays in bed, turning this very fact over, wondering whether he deserves this little piece of happiness. 

But he tries to shut down any thoughts that Tony has dubbed, “Steve’s sad sack of shit beliefs.” 

He flicks Steve’s wrist or forehead, whatever part he can reach, then drags him to sit by the docks. Tony arranges them so Steve’s holding him, and then he demands Steve to “use his words” and explain the thoughts flying through his head. 

Tony grabs his hands, intertwining their fingers together and kisses Steve’s knuckles.

Steve remembers Tony’s words: _Of course, I needed you._ He holds onto that whenever he slips and thinks about Tony’s face in the bunker.

He breathes in, remembers to grab the rope. 

Steve learns to talk to Tony with each passing day. The irony is that Captain America led a group for the bereaved after the snap, but struggles with delineating his own thoughts. The strategist can turn over mission plans, but fails to consider himself as part of the equation. 

Tony quells his doubts, reassures him that they have time. That life will be alright. 

Simple and easy.

Pepper drops off Morgan one Friday morning late in the fall and promises to pick her up the following Thursday. Tony mentioned that Pepper has business in Tokyo that requires her to be away longer than expected.

It must be difficult, Steve thinks, to be apart from your child, living in another house and watching them grow up in halves. But maybe, it doesn’t work that way. Tony seems to be content with the arrangement, cherishing the time with his daughter whenever they’re together. Morgan, easygoing as ever, adjusts to the change with stride, enjoying life in Lake Tahoe whenever she comes up here. 

Morgan, noticing Steve from across the bridge, yells for him. “Hi Pudding!”

Steve, for his part, can’t necessarily stop eavesdropping. He’s been watching Pepper and Tony talk from across the lake. The super hearing comes with the territory. He tries to block their voices by focusing on watering the hanging plants on the veranda, but he fails. 

Instead, he grabs his sketchbook and sits by the dock, making himself available. Just in case Tony and Morgan felt like getting some food, they’d see him. 

He turns his head to look at the house across the lake so often that if he wasn’t full of serum, he’d get a headache. 

Pepper’s standing beside her car in the driveway, making no move to enter Tony’s house. Tony, for his part, just looks at her with resignation and a soft private smile. He doesn’t pull her close or kiss her cheek as Steve would expect. 

But they look at each other with some sort of understanding that just belongs to the both of them. They turn to Morgan as she waves at Steve, so they have no choice but to follow the sight across the lake.

Steve must look pathetic for sketching under a tree by the dock. He ignores his heating face and waves back. 

With his damn, perfect eye-sight, Steve sees Pepper’s head shake with amusement. Perhaps, she’s laughing at Steve. Then, Morgan runs to Pepper for a kiss goodbye, before demanding to be picked up by Tony. Pepper watches them with affection evident in her smile. 

She is gracious in all the ways Steve could never be. 

Steve would never let go of Tony if Tony was ever his. That’s the difference between them, yet, they’re both two people loving Tony Stark from a distance.

Pepper bids them goodbye, waves at Steve with a knowing glance, and drives off, the same way she does whenever dropping off Morgan. 

Steve returns back to his house, marvelling at how much his home has changed with furniture. Two weeks ago, Tony dragged him out of the shed to go furniture shopping. “I can’t always sit on the counter. I prefer something else digging on my ass, you know.” 

They ended up agreeing on a low charcoal couch. A plush rug now accents a sleek, wooden coffee table. Steve complained that he could build a better coffee table, one with cedar instead of mahogany; he had the workshop and the supplies were available at Augusto’s hardware store, but Tony just pouted and tutted at the suggestion. 

Steve can't deny him anything, so he had just nodded with a defeated smile and moved on to picking out the floor lamps. 

Beside the fireplace is a fashionable crate for firewood and a comfortable recliner. Steve takes a seat on it, arranging the pillows both he and Tony agreed on, and turns on the lamp. 

The hanging plants and the shelves are filled with succulents and aloe vera. Tony's been eying the kalanchoe, and he hasn’t been subtle about wanting some sprucing up in the workshop. There's a pale blue knitted blanket thrown over the sofa from where Tony had cuddled the previous night. The window sill is Steve's favorite part. It serves as his reading nook, the wide windows allowing in the natural light, looking lovely with the shadows of the floor plants beside it.

Steve opens his book and gets lost in the words. He’s surprised to hear the insistent knocking on the door shortly after.

“Pudding! Steve!” Morgan says. She’s seven now, with Steve missing her most recent birthday weeks prior. 

Tony and Pepper had a joint birthday party in San Francisco with the New Avengers. Steve, of course, was invited, but he felt gangly and awkward, like a school boy invited solely because the host felt bad. Tony gave him hell about not coming, but eventually backed off when he found Steve making Morgan a birthday cake one afternoon. 

Steve’s been spending the last few months with Tony and Morgan. Sometimes he feels like he’s intruding on the father-daughter duo, but Steve’s always been a selfish man, so any time he is invited for birdwatching, a walk by the northwest beach, or strawberry picking in the farms, he never declines. 

Steve’s even suggested that Morgan and Tony could use some alone time, since it’s been weeks since he’s seen his daughter. But here Tony was, on Steve’s porch, carrying her against his body with an open expression. 

“Lunch?” Tony offers a sheepish smile. “Maguna and I are starved.”

It’s their thing, Steve realizes. 

Food opens them up, allows their conversations to flow. 

Simple and easy.

Steve nods, grabs his keys, and is once again shocked, when Morgan wraps her arms around his neck and jumps from Tony’s arms into Steve. 

Tony laughs. “Steve can’t hug you as he drives, Maguna.”

“Just for a little bit, then.” Steve smiles, pleased. He rocks her small frame against his chest, padding back and forth on the porch and letting Tony's voice wash over them. 

Morgan pecks Steve on the cheek and smiles. She’s like Tony. Free with affection. 

And Steve? He’s just desperate to be held. 

* * *

Morgan fits into Steve’s life with ease. It’s like she’s been there all along. Over the months, Steve gets to know her more and more. He learns from Tony that she might get up in the middle of the night and watch him as he works on projects. Sometimes, she’s a sneak and will try to bribe Steve for popsicles. She likes to be tucked in at night and sleeps with a nightlight on, door open. 

In the mornings, Steve’s taken to preparing them breakfast. An American classic: eggs and bacon. Toast. Sometimes he’ll whip up baked beans from the previous night. He makes Tony coffee in the mornings using the moka pot, grinding specially purchased beans. 

They’re all attuned to each other’s schedule. 

After breakfast, Tony will spend time in the workshop with Morgan. She has her own project - she wants to make a robotic turtle. 

Usually, Steve would sit in the basement and draw them. But most mornings, he spends in the shop, working on polishing a shelf or planning a new project. 

Then, there’s lunch. 

Tony hates cooking. He’ll say, “I’m a genius, of course, I can cook. It’s science. I just don’t want to use my brain on that.” 

He’s too impatient to stand beside a stove and mix, but he’ll do fine drilling holes into metal. Steve shakes his head and complains about the division of chores, but he’s secretly glad that he’s able to prepare meals for them. Besides, most days, he’s able to lure Morgan from the workshop and enlist in her setting the table. 

After lunch, Steve usually reads, waters his plants, and watches TV with Morgan. Somedays, they do jigsaw puzzles on Steve’s floors while Tony messes around on his StarkPad. 

On nice days when they’re all feeling too cooped up, they go for lunch in town and walk around the farmer’s market. Morgan’s taken to collecting toy cars, while Steve purchases framed maps in antique shops. Tony rolls his eyes saying, “You both have no taste.” 

This is a man who wears Gucci shoes with rock band shirts. Steve doesn’t argue, just laughs and hangs the frames in his living room despite Tony’s attempt to rip them from the walls. 

“I’ve worked too hard on getting you to agree with the rug and sofa. That frame does not go with that mirror!” He points to the circular mirror above the fireplace.

Morgan just laughs, “Daddy, you’re a drama queen.”

It's a horribly domestic life. And by horribly, Steve thinks it’s happiness. 

Most days, they video call Pepper after dinner. Steve’s surprised when Tony calls her with Steve in the room. Even more so because Tony lies on Steve's couch, no, Steve’s house, while talking to her about Morgan and SI projects.

He tries to make an excuse about cleaning, even if they both know all the dishes have been put away, just to give them privacy, but Tony just raises a confused eyebrow and nudges Steve back to the sofa.

And that’s that. It’s a ritual. 

Pepper’s taken to saying hello to him during the phone calls and on the days she picks up Morgan at Tony’s, she smiles at Steve. 

Steve cherishes every moment, for once in his goddamn life happy about the eidetic memory. He remembers good days, when Tony smiles at him over his cup, when Tony presses up beside him as they sit by the docks, when Morgan pouts when Tony teases her. 

When Steve closes his eyes, he no longer sees ghosts; the flashes of red in the corner of his eyes are gone too, as if satisfied with how Steve’s life has unfolded. Instead, when Steve falls asleep, he doesn’t think of falling into the ocean, of dark, musty bunkers, or of the Iron Man suit. He falls asleep looking forward to all the tomorrows and the future. 

Of being home with a family. 

Maybe it could be his.

* * *

When Morgan returns from Pepper’s one afternoon, she runs to Steve’s house, bangs the door open. It’s never locked these days. 

She climbs on top of him and nuzzles his neck. Once again it’s still a surprise to Steve how easy the Starks can be with their affection. Tony’s taken to grabbing Steve’s arm with his mechanical one whenever they walked around town. Steve smiles everytime he looks down and sees their fingers – flesh and mechanical – intertwined. 

“I’m back, Steve!” she says.

“Welcome home,” he says, suddenly feeling light-hearted at the sentiment. He misses her terribly when she’s not around and Tony’s slightly more irritable and late to meals when she’s gone.

“Steve, dad said I have to ask you if I can get a horse!” 

“Uh,” he begins, confused at the request. He pulls away from the hug. “Why do you have to ask me?”

“Because you’ll be the one who ends up taking care of it. Dad said he’ll be too busy and can’t be bothered to pick up poop or clean hooves,” she says matter-of-factly, all prim and formal about it.

“Is that what he said?” Steve shakes his head, amused. He already pictures himself building a small stable on the east side of his property. No, Tony’s. Because why else would it be on his side of the lake. Unless Tony wanted Steve to take care of the horse, too?

And so it goes.

Steve is helpless when two pairs of brown eyes look at him during lunch and talk about riding horses around the property. Their respective land is turning more and more into a quintessential idyllic portrait of domestic life.

But Steve doesn’t complain. The following morning, he takes the truck to Augusto’s hardware store and enlists Angel for helping him get all the materials ready for a stable. 

“What’s the project?” Augusto asks as they load Steve’s truck with concrete mixes and basic woodwork for the stable’s foundations. Steve will need to make another trip back to get the rest of the materials for today’s work. 

“Morgan’s asking Tony for a horse. They’re gonna need a stable for it.” Steve hands drops a fifty on the boy’s shirt pocket.

“And what? You figured you’d build a fucking stable?!” Angel deadpans with an eye roll. “You are so whipped, man. So gone over Mr. Stark. I can’t even watch!”

“Language, kid,” Steve warns with a sigh.

“You say that like don’t curse up a storm,” Angel quips. 

Steve can’t argue with that, so he just shakes his head, and loads up the rest of the plywood and nails into the truck’s bed. He could do all of this easily, but he figures Angel could use the extra money helping Steve with getting all the materials ready for pick up. 

As Angel returns inside the shop to prepare for the next batch of pick up, Augusto jogs over with a cactus. He claps Steve’s hand before passing the plant over. 

“For Morgan, from Izabel.” He smiles. “This is how she shows her approval, giving you all the plants you can possibly need.”

Steve grabs the plant. “Thanks, my living room looks much more welcoming with all the plants. The lemon tree, in particular.” 

“Well, I’m sure Tony had a hand in making it better. Didn’t you go furniture shopping together?”

“Er. Yeah.” Steve scratches his head, slightly embarrassed at the knowing look Augusto gives him. “He’s got an eye for interior design.”

“And you, my friend, have an eye for pretty things. You know, my wife picked up all the furniture in our house, and next thing I knew, she moved in.” He winks. “I gotta say, Steve, fatherhood looks good on you.”

* * *

Steve and Morgan spend the morning riding around the property. He still can’t believe that Tony got him a horse. When Steve moved in, he had a fleeting thought of purchasing one, but it was only a momentary fantasy. Yet, here’s Tony making all of his dreams come true.

Steve names the horse Brooklyn. He’s currently in the stables because Steve wants to show Morgan the basics of riding first. Steve’s got paddock boots, but no half chaps. But whatever, he’s not riding today. 

“Well, I sure as hell am not riding a stallion. I like my rides of the human breed, if you catch my drift, Steve.” Tony snickers before securing Morgan’s helmet. “My mom was posh and forced me to take horseback riding in the summers. Riding a horse yesterday would be too soon.”

He groans, gesturing for Steve to carry Morgan to the steps and secure her into the saddle. 

Morgan pauses by the steps, eyes wide, caught between awe and excitement. She cowers back when the horse suddenly turns towards her voice. 

“It’s huge!” She giggles and tries to pet its side.

Caught between excitement and apprehension, she moves closer to Tony and holds his hand. 

Steve smiles as they boost Morgan into the seat. 

The pally Appaloosa stays still, looking at Steve with gentle eyes, as Morgan gets comfortable on his back. Tony had dressed Morgan in a riding get up with breeches and expensive riding boots to match. The man has always been fashionable, even in his jeans. Morgan blows raspberries towards her father as Tony fusses with her safety helmet. 

Tony steps back and snaps a couple of photos of Morgan. She’s adorable. 

Steve realizes he’s been staring at Tony the entire time when Chopin, Morgan’s horse, neighs. With a smile, Steve pats it and puts on his pinch front hat.

“You make that look nice and pretty. Jeez, do you look good in everything?” Tony eyes him, cheeks somewhat tainted with a blush. 

It is _hot_. Tony should wear sunblock. 

All the good things about him, physically, comes down to the serum. And apparently, according to Sam, his skills in the communication department needs improvement. 

He’s trying. 

“Well, you’re the one who wanted to play dress up,” Steve says.

Steve tips his hat and shows Morgan how to hold the reins.

“Wait.” Tony waves a hand up. “Let me get a picture of you both.”

Steve awkwardly poses beside Morgan and her horse, Chopin. Tony goads them into making silly faces, then they’re all genuinely laughing. He wishes Tony would set the phone on a tree and take a timed photo of all of them. And so, that’s exactly what Steve suggests.

Tony, surprised, curls his lips at the direction but moves to stand beside Morgan’s left side and throws up a peace sign.

They spend the afternoon teaching Morgan on the basics of riding. 

“So you’ve been reading up on how to ride, right?” Steve asks, double checking that her helmet issecured.

“That’s my daughter, Steve. A scary combo of the best parts of Potts and Stark, of course she did research!” Tony replies with a grin. 

Morgan nods. “We never walk behind a horse. They might get scared. And we usually begin with sitting up tall before setting the horse on a walk.”

Steve teaches her how to adjust the stirrups, hold the reins. “Pretend you’re holding two icecream cones and drop your pinkies.” Steve adjusts her thumbs and pinkies. “Like this, dear.” 

All the while, Tony stands close, hands in his pocket, watching them both. 

“And keep it even,” Steve adds, glancing back and forth between the father-daughter duo.

“Ok.” She nods. “Now squeeze my calves right?” The horse responds with a little walk forward. 

“Woah!” She laughs, looking to see if Tony caught the act.

“Great job, baby.” Tony nods, pulling his phone back out and snapping photos. Steve tries not to look at the camera, sort of embarrassed to be caught looking. Instead, he focuses on helping Morgan walk and steer. 

“If you want them to stop, pull on the reins gently.” Steve shows her the gesture, letting her play and wiggle. Her laugh is contagious and if Tony catches him looking, then so what? Tony welcomes Steve with a smile, and it feels like his heart cracks bit by bit, inch by inch. The happiness of their little home overwhelms him. 

They spend the rest of the day practicing with her balance. “Practice my wiggle, right Steve?” Steve nods in affirmation. She blows a kiss to Tony, before making figure eights around the area. “I love you 3000, Daddy.” 

“Did you hear that, Steve? 3000.” Tony makes an exaggerated kiss sound. 

When the sun gets too punishing, they go back into Steve’s house and prepare an afternoon snack while Tony suggests dinner in town. All the while, Steve examines the rest of his house and how easy the two Starks fit into his home. 

No. Their home, Steve thinks, wishing it were true.

Home, with all of Tony’s StarkPads, Morgan’s coloring books, Tony’s sunglasses on the kitchen counter, Morgan’s riding boots and coat hanging by the entrance, Tony’s schematics on the farm table—there’s also Tony’s constant, unveiled suggestions to install FRIDAY in the house because he was “too lazy to walk across the lake just to fetch designs.”

They all practically live together. Perhaps, Augusto is right about his wife picking the furniture.

* * *

A few weekends later, Steve and Morgan return to the stables way past noon. They remove the tack from the horses, take their time in brushing them even if they’re both starving. Morgan complains the entire time about lunch but makes sure to clean and check Chopin. Only the child of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts would name their pet after a grand composer.

They hang up Morgan’s helmet, change her out of her riding boots, and lock up.

“I’m so hungry, Steve.” She pouts.

“I know, sweetheart. I don’t think your dad made lunch though, so we’ll have to go into town,” Steve offers. Tony's best attempt at lunch is grilled cheese and a vegetable packed smoothie. Morgan is much more partial to Steve’s panini sandwiches though, as she likes to remind her father. 

“That’ll take long,” she whines and gestures to be carried. After riding, she was usually too exhausted to walk. Steve knows he shouldn’t spoil her, but every time she opens her arms, he gives in and carries her on his back. 

“Well, if your dad made food…” he starts, knowing Tony will bully Steve into scrapping up something for them or taking the suit to pick up take-out in town.

“He said that’s your job,” Morgan replies in a way that means she’s parroting Tony. 

“So he says,” Steve snorts and pulls her up to his chest. Her legs dangle just under Steve’s waist. 

“Daddy said that’s how the division of chores is in the household, but I don’t get why we still live in separate houses.” 

Steve’s heart skips a beat. “What do you mean, Morgan?” 

“It’s confusing, sometimes. Mommy and Daddy are divorced and don’t live in the same house or spend as much time together anymore. But you and Daddy are always together and you hold hands but don’t live together.” She scrunches her nose in confusion.

Steve stops on the path to Tony’s property. On the porch sits Rhodes and Carol, chatting with Tony.

They’re still a distance away. Steve rearranges Morgan and puts her on his back instead, carrying her piggy-back style. He thinks about how to respond to Morgan’s inquiry. It must be puzzling for her. Not only have her parents explained the concept of divorce, but she’s spending all this time with Steve. Of course, with the amount of time he spends around the two Starks, Morgan might assume that Steve’s relationship with Tony was similar to her parents. 

Did she ask Tony? What did Tony say? His mind drifts to possibilities, but in the end, he doesn’t know what to say, not really. Not yet. So instead, Steve hums. “Your daddy and I are friends. Close friends.”

“Best friends?” Morgan inquires.

Steve nods, biting his lip. “Yes.” 

He wanted so much more than friendship. Steve long realized that he’s a greedy man willing to take crumbs, so if friendship is the best they can do, then that’s fine too. But Steve couldn’t help that he and Tony were beyond the line of friendship. 

And fuck, Steve’s in love with Tony.

“Can I be your best friend too, Steve?” Morgan asks, tilting her head and placing it in the nook between Steve’s shoulder and throat. 

“Of course.” He smiles, chuffed and prideful that _shit_ , for once, he seemed to be saying the right thing.

They cross the bridge when he hears Carol’s commentary. Steve tries to tune out the conversation since he’s not partaking in it, but super soldier hearing makes it difficult. 

“Rogers, living across the lake? It’s like a goddamn day time drama!” She exclaims. “You know, Tony, I was taken to space in the 90s and I still recall a sitcom with the same premise.”

Steve tries to focus on the weight of Morgan and the blistering summer sun in an effort to not listen. 

“Taken to space is a nice way of putting it,” Rhodes mutters darkly.

“Hey, hey, now, honey, it’s my narrative, let me have some agency here.” Carol rolls her eyes but pulls Rhodes for a kiss. She turns back to Tony. “Seriously, Tony. He’s got that whole cowboy look. Just, turn your head and pretend you're looking at Morgan.” 

“Carol, please shut up,” Tony hisses, turning over to catch Steve and Morgan walking towards them. 

Tony waves them down as they enter the outdoor sitting area. 

“I mean, cowboy or rugged prince? You decide. Ok, fine, I’m shutting up now.” Carol motions to zipping her lips before standing to reach for Morgan. Steve sets her down on the patio and shakes Rhodes’s hand. 

“Hey, Steve. I like your hat.” Carol eyes him with a grin. 

“Er, thanks.” Steve scratches his beard then takes off the hat, setting it on the hook that Tony installed by the backdoor. “It’s a gift from Tony.”

“Oh.” Rhodes smiles widely, before swiping at Tony. “He always did have good fashion sense.”

“Ok!” Tony claps his hands and ushers them all to sit on the outdoor dining table. “Aunt Carol and Uncle Rhodes brought Thai food from our favorite place, Maguna!”

They arrange themselves on the table with Rhodes and Carol on one side with Steve, Tony, and Morgan on the other. Carol winks at them before opening the somehow still-warm containers of food. 

“We flew all the way from New York because Tony’s been haranguing us about missing it,” Rhodes supplies.

“Only, you, my honeybear, would get in the War Machine suit and fly here for lunch.” Tony leans over the table and kisses his cheek.

“Hey, that’s my man,” Carol chides and slaps Tony away. “I still can’t believe we didn’t drop the bag over Kentucky or some midwestern state on our way over.”

“My man, first.” Tony sticks his tongue out. “I wouldn’t mind if you dropped it down Alabama. Their governor sucks.”

“Auntie Carol, do you wanna meet my horse after lunch? I named him Chopin!” 

And with that, lunch was served with Tony pouring the Thai iced-tea in his collection of mason jars. 

“How’s it going, Captain?” Rhodes measures out, both eyebrows raised as he watches Steve with the air of someone ‘who’s-done-with-your-shit.’

“Oh, Rhodeybear, please, stop.” Tony throws his hands up and forces them all to dig into the food. 

But Rhodes continues to mock-glare at Steve, until his face turns contemplative as the meal progresses. 

Lunch is a boisterous affair centered around Morgan. She’s like the light anchoring them all together. They watch as she reenacts her life with Pepper up on the coast and how she complains about the California heat. They all laugh when she pokes fun at Tony, but Rhodes practically falls off his chair, looking smug as hell, when Morgan teases Steve.

Tony pets Morgan. “You sure you don’t want to nap before showing Aunt Carol your horse?”

“I want to show her now,” Morgan says, hopping off Tony’s lap to pull at Carol. 

“I wanna see that canoe of yours, Rogers,” Rhodes suggests. “Tony said you guys ride it around the lake. You’ve taken up woodworking, huh?” 

Steve nods, standing and plucking Morgan from her seat and depositing her into Carol’s awaiting arms.

Tony throws up a hand. There’s a slight blush on his cheeks. “What? Is no one going to help me with the dishes?”

“Oh shut it, you can do it yourself,” Rhodes replies.

“But I was gonna upgrade yours and Carol’s suit,” Tony tries to harangue Rhodes and Carol for assistance over clean-up.

Rhodes rolls his eyes and measures out, “Dishes first.” 

“I’ll help.” Steve starts towards the house but Rhodes pulls his arm back, not lightly. Steve raises a questioning eyebrow at the ‘all-business’ and serious expression Rhodes pulls. 

This is the same man who said he’d shoot Steve’s kneecaps and to not fuck with Tony. Rhodes has seen Steve at his prime in battle, all bloodthirsty and vengeful. He's also seen Steve have several panic attacks outside Tony's hospital room.

Steve isn’t stupid, he knows that Rhodes can tell his relationship with Tony has shifted since they took residency in Lake Tahoe nearly ten months ago. Rhodes is good enough friends with both Tony and Pepper to know how the divorce unfolded. Steve’s under no guise that Tony’s told Rhodes about their _improving_ friendship and portrait of domestic life at the lake house. 

Shit, Steve spent the holidays with the Starks and cooked up a hearty Christmas brunch before Pepper picked up Morgan. Then, he and Tony had spent the rest of the day lounging on Steve’s sofa and watching reruns of _Twilight Zone_ and drinking wine. 

“He can do it himself. You baby him too much.” Rhodes laughs, and then, firmly steers Steve back out the porch. “Tony was going on and on about your woodwork,” he says with a shit eating grin towards Tony’s annoyed face. “Let’s see that shop of yours.”

“I know what you’re doing, Rhodey!” Tony huffs with his arms crossed. He sports an amused glare as he watches their retreating figures. Steve keeps looking over his back to see Tony wave and hear the threats thrown over Rhodes’s way. 

“You’ll be fine with doing dish duty?” Steve calls out. 

“Yes, dear. I’ll survive.” Tony makes a shooing motion and goes to gather all the dishes. 

With one last look towards Tony’s retreating figure, Steve leads the walk through the bridge and across the lake. He takes Carol, Morgan, and Rhodes to the stables first. Carol listens attentively as Morgan explains Chopin’s breed, her previous owners, and her life at the lake house. She sounds satisfied, happy even as she talks about picnic dinners by the lake when the weather was good and how she’s winning their game of bird watching by the docks. Rhodes examines the stables like an inspector, asking about the building process before asking Steve about his woodworking workshop. 

Eager to please, Steve takes the path to the shed, leaving Morgan and Carol in the stables. 

He can’t help but look across the lake to see if Tony’s around watching them. Unfortunately, he isn’t and was still most likely finishing the dishes. 

“I’m currently working on a trellis,” Steve says, pointing at the work table. “Was hoping to put some roses on it. Tony said nasturtiums might be better though.”

“Listen Steve, I don’t actually want to see your DIY projects nor do I care for it.” Rhodes snorts and steps further into the woodshop. He leans against the left side counters, picks up some tools, then plops them down. “I just wanted to get you alone and talk to you.”

“Ok...” he draws out, unsure how he already stepped on Rhodes’ toes after spending less than the day together. 

It reminds Steve of the day Tony woke up after spending weeks in the hospital. Rhodes was the one to tell him that Tony was awake. Rhodes was also the person who threatened to kick Steve’s ass. 

They stand across from each other, arms crossed. Steve braces himself with a determined nod. 

“I can’t say I didn’t expect this, you know?” Rhodes shakes his head. “Tony, when he wants something, he’ll act like he doesn’t, and yet, he’s here. Out of all the places he could be. For fuck’s sake. He’s letting you watch after his kid and he’s the most overprotective father I know.” 

Steve’s always known that Tony appointing him as Morgan’s unofficial babysitter as he tinkered off in his workshop was a sign of trust. An immense one at that. Steve treasures it because after everything, after years apart and an entire battle that scarred them both, Tony’s letting him into his life. Into Morgan’s. Into his family. Steve’s grateful, and he can’t lose this. He’s been alone his whole life. Before the army, before Tony, before the Avengers. Now, he has a taste of peace, Steve’s scared to fuck it up.

“It means a lot to me that Tony’s letting me around him and Morgan,” he says evenly.

Rhodes frowns. “I still don’t think you deserve it nor do I fully trust you, Rogers.”

“Rhodes, I know that. He’s too good for me. I’m not stupid.” Steve replies. “It’s Tony’s choice.” 

“Yeah, and I’m not gonna take that away from him. But I _can_ tell you that I’d enlist Carol, Bruce, Strange, the Spiderkid, and whoever else to put…” Rhodes gestures a tied up circle with his hands, “...around your neck. You don’t have many chances left, Rogers. You’ve gotten way too much.”

“I won’t fuck it up,” Steve promises with conviction. He holds Rhodes’s gaze, “I won’t. I’ll do my best and try to make him happy, Rhodes.”

“You better not. You’ll have to answer to Captain Marvel and Morgan if you do. Shit, you’re really lucky that Nebula isn’t in this galaxy.” Rhodes offers a sharp smirk, all teeth. There’s no doubt that he’d take pleasure in seeing the two women kick Steve’s ass.

And ouch, he remembers Nebula fighting in the battle, and she had fun with the sword. He doesn’t know her well. But Tony spoke of her with fondness in his eyes and affection in his voice. Tony misses her, too.

Belatedly, Steve recalls that Pepper also has a suit. He chuckles at the threat. He had no chance standing up against those women. They were the ones who tired out Thanos for Tony to successfully steal the stones. 

“I don’t trust you, but I trust Tony, and apparently, you’re _it._ ” Rhodes gives him a look like he just stepped on a spider. “Don’t fucking know what he sees in you, but that’s Tony. Always sees the best in people. He deserves the best, Rogers. You hear me? Don’t fuck it up.” 

Steve is going to try his damndest to make Tony Stark a happy man, he’s decided that the moment Tony stepped into his house for coffee the very first day. It’s a second chance he didn’t deserve. For all the falling apart and falling out of touch and the pain Steve’s inflicted on their lives, Steve knows better. He’d grovel and jump through universes just to keep what he has here in the lake house, in Lover’s Lane. 

He’s old and tired, and it’s a joy to wake up in the morning and knowing he has a future—one that wasn’t filled with the excitement and adrenaline of a mission, but something quiet: a home. 

Tony.

Rhodes must see the gears turning in Steve's head because he nods, satisfied, then walks off.

“Rhodes.” The man in question turns back when Steve calls him.

“What now?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Congrats on the wedding, by the way. Tony says you’re a power couple with leading the New Avengers and all.” 

Rhodes snorts and flicks him off. “We’ll set the example for you two. I’m telling you, Rogers. You better make Tony happy.”

* * *

The sun rises and the wind blows, cold. It marks April in Tahoe. 

Steve hears the giggles and howls before he sees Peter and Morgan biking through the bridge connecting Tony’s house to Steve’s property. They’ve got matching white mountain bikes that skid through the dirt. Peter’s in a sweat-soaked shirt while Morgan’s in a yellow shirt and shorts, knees all dirty with her hair a mess. They look like siblings.

Watching them tease each other and goad each other into racing toward Steve reminds Steve of all the trouble he and Bucky used to get into as children. They used to climb fire exits and jump down into piles of garbage. It was Brooklyn in the 1930s – kids got creative when they couldn’t afford toys. 

Morgan’s hair is everywhere and in an effort to shake the strays from her face, she almost falls. Steve shakes his head fondly, a sudden urge to brush her hair and take a damp cloth to clean her darkened knees. 

He sighs. 

She should be wearing a helmet. He’ll have to talk to Tony about that tonight. He can already imagine Tony rolling his eyes at Steve’s mother henning. 

Steve puts his crossword down and makes a note to buy a kid’s helmet next time he goes to town. 

The duo reach Steve with melodramatics, spinning and skidding their bikes across the path in circles. Peter brakes hard and Morgan follows suit. They drop their bikes carelessly on the veranda’s steps and run up to him. 

Steve shakes his head, sometimes children had no carry for things. He opens his mouth to admonish them but– 

Breathing hard, Peter wipes the sweat on his neck with the edge of his shirt. “I’m here to ask you about your intentions with Mr. Stark.”

“Er, what’s that, Queens? Is that how we say good morning in this century?” Steve stands to pat Peter on the back, he arrived over a week ago. He finished high school last semester and is taking some time off to figure out life. Funnily enough, the goal is fitting because their education system is all up in jumbles after the snap. 

“Well, apparently how we say sorry is by going on the run for two years without a word to your family, but who am I to say anything?” Peter says with an air of aw-shucks innocence. He is Tony’s kid, though and though. Not by blood, but by their bond. The biting, honest sarcasm is a complete echo to the man living across the lake. 

“And I guess you always tell Aunt May where you’re at, huh?” Steve bites back, wiping the victory from Peter’s face. “And what your post-graduation plans are? I hear Tony has some pull at MIT.” 

Peter raises his hand, tampering Steve down and dropping on the rocking chair. “Alright. Fine, but we’re here to talk about _you_ and Mr. Stark.”

“Dad! You mean dad, right?” Morgan tugs Peter’s shirt and eyes him for affirmation. 

“Yup. I’ve got spies.” He shares a conspiratorial smile with Morgan, who jumps excitedly, gaze darting from Peter to Steve. “And I have my spider tingle, so I’ve come to give you a pep-shovel talk, Captain America.”

“Call me Steve, kid. I’ve told you that.” He puts the notebook down and turns his attention to them. They take a seat across from him and eye the plate of sliced peaches. Steve pushes it towards Peter.

“Fine, Steve.” Peter grabs a slice and chews slowly, all while giving Steve the stink eye. Then, mutters, “Still Captain America, though.” 

He’s never been close to Peter. He is Tony’s, first and foremost. It’s as if after Siberia, they split the Avengers into two groups; an alliance for Steve and a group for Tony. The battle with Thanos solidified Steve’s inkling that Peter didn’t trust him.

In the hospital room, Peter was polite, greeting Steve when necessary, but he never initiated a conversation, too busy looking after Tony’s prone body and working with Carol on documenting what occurred during the battle. 

Frankly, Steve’s head space was too jumbled then, about two years and some change ago, that he didn’t attempt to talk to Peter. He was barely holding on with the grief of Natasha and the apprehension from Tony’s condition.

“Pudding! I still think you’re Pudding, Steve,” Morgan chimes, peach dripping from her fingertips.

Steve reaches for the handkerchief in his pocket, leans over, and wipes Morgan’s fingers. She wiggles away and reaches for more fruit. “That’s okay, I know you and your dad like giving people nicknames.”

Peter nods sagely. “You know he’s like my dad, so you’re basically adopting me too, if you’re serious about this.” 

“Serious about what, Peter?” Steve plays dumb because it’s easier than confessing his intentions. 

Besides, while Steve acknowledged his desires, he’s not entirely sure if Tony is ready for more than their friendship. They have something fragile and lovely blooming here. Steve doesn't want to rush it, he’s spent a good chunk of his life running head first into the fire. He didn’t want to burn without the assurance that Tony would douse him, and would be there to tend to his wounds. 

No. It’s better to not think. Simple and easy. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Steve! Everyone sees it! Rhodey and Sam have a betting pool going. The papers have written about this for _years_ , since 2012? Ok, yeah, they’re from the Daily Bugle and TMZ but yeah, there’s like dedicated websites to you and Tony. It’s called _shipping._ But I’m getting side-tracked. What I’m saying is, if you’re interested in pursuing a relationship with Mr. Stark, then you better be serious because he’s old and gray and he doesn’t have time for just a summer romance. Wait, it’s still winter, right? Fine, spring, you know what I mean.” 

“Yup! What was that word you taught me, Pete? Co-mit-ment.” She shakes Peter as her tongue rolls to pronounce the words.

“Yes! Commitment. Co-mit-ment! That’s right, Morgan. Mr. Stark needs commitment, just saying.”

Steve shakes his head. In the last few weeks, he’s received the shovel talk from a variety of superheroes. One evening, Tony was on the phone with Reed Richards while Steve set up dinner. Richards unsubtly said, “It’s good to keep your man in line, Stark.” While Sue rolled her eyes and said, “If you need pointers, Tony, do let me know.”

In another case, Izabel dragged Steve to the corner of the restaurant as Tony paid and basically told Steve “not to fuck it up” because “men had a tendancy to do that.” She patted his cheek, grinned, and added, “Just listen to me, dear.” 

Steve will try not to fuck things up, he told Rhodes as much. He still can’t trust himself with great and profound things such as love, but he’s understanding now that love, care, and affection can be freely given. He doesn't have to hold back because he was scared of retributions and rejection. And thus far, Steve believes he’s loved without restraint. Openly, so much so that Tony must _know_.

Yet, they’ve never talked about falling asleep on the workshop sofa together, the way Tony wraps his mechanical arm on Steve’s free hand as they drive the truck, or the daily meals they all share together. 

It’s as if words won’t suffice.

“Anything else, Mr. Parker?” Steve fusses, fire in his belly at the thought that he just got schooled by these two, adorable, heartstopping, caring kids. Something soft and fond inside him grows.

Peter turns to Steve before eying the empty plate. They look at him with a smile. “Oh yeah, Steve, Tony said you’ll have lunch ready for us in a bit. He’s requesting you take us to Izabel’s or you make steaks.” 

“Did Tony request steak, or was that you?” Steve mutters, already getting a headache with the thought of Angel and Peter meeting and teaming up against him. They’d have a blast, though. They were both brilliant and dedicated followers of Tony Stark. Steve would have to watch out because they’ll be a menace. 

Steve stands, taps his pockets for his keys, and just as he’s about to lead them out the patio and into the car, Morgan opens her arms, jumps, and asks to be carried.

She was too old for it. But he won’t resist a hug. Yes, something warm and tender inside the pits of his belly grows. He’s carried her so many times over, but Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it. Steve will treasure it now before Morgan gets too old and whines about her “pudding” trying to baby her. 

Across the way, Tony waves at them. The nanotech covers his body and he flies over the lake to meet them by the truck.

“Lazy, you could have walked across the bridge,” Peter laments. 

“Well, you could have slung over with your webs. But you didn’t. You’d thought of that, kiddo.” Tony sticks his tongue out and kisses Morgan on the cheek. Steve holds his breath as Tony turns to him with an affectionate smile and a squeeze on the bicep.

Steve settles Morgan in the truck as Tony hops onto the passenger seat and bickers with Peter all the way into town. 

In the rearview mirror, he catches Morgan’s eye and smiles. 

* * *

The following weekend, Tony, Peter, and Morgan are with Pepper in San Francisco, overseeing the building of the new SI headquarters, so Steve’s left alone to his own devices. The sudden quiet after months having a family in his home, reminds him of how much he’s become dependent on them. 

For the most part, he lives for them. 

It’s his reason to get out of bed in the morning. They give him a reason to make food, shop for groceries, to clean the house. It’s all very domestic and ordinary. For once, there’s no burden of being Captain America. 

The locals know him as Steve who lives in one of the houses on Lover’s Lane. He’s Morgan’s little caretaker and riding instructor. He’s just Steve Rogers. Tony’s neighbor, friend, perhaps, more. 

Tony returns alone on Sunday evening, just as April turns into May. 

“I still have leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Steve says when Tony drops his person on the sofa and whines about running SI. He tries to take off his shoes, but promptly gives up, so Steve has no choice but to undo the laces and pull them off him.

“Already ate, thanks, dear,” Tony says, groaning and closing his eyes. 

Tony naps on the couch until about four in the morning. Steve sits on the reading chair across the room and just watches the rise and fall of Tony’s torso. He’s alive. Breathing. Somewhat whole. He’s been in the same exact position so many times before, watching Tony sleep in the medical bay after a mission, after the battle with Thanos, and then, so many times over, when Tony decides to flop down on Steve’s sofa. 

He almost lost this man because of his arrogance and stupidity. So, when Tony’s eyes flutter awake and he stretches and blinks lazily at Steve with a small, happy, smile, Steve knows that he loves Tony and the intimacy they’ve worked towards these past months is special. 

“Tony,” Steve begins, swallowing the lump on his throat. “Did it scar?”

“What?”

Steve offers a look, blinking, then points to Tony’s chest. 

“Of course, the arc reactor scarred. You’ve seen that many times over, Steve,” Tony replies, still sleepy. He yawns.

“No. That’s not… I meant. Uh.” He rubs a hand across his face. He just needs to spit it out. Take ownership. He needs to know. “In Siberia. Did it scar? When the shield. No, when _I_ hit the armor... No. When I hit _you_ with the shield?”

Tony gazes at him, expression shifting from shock, confusion, and resignation. “Are we really going to do this?” He sits up, looks at the large clock above the window sill. “Really?”

“I think it’s needed.” Steve nods. “If… we want to get better… I want... it’s not just because I’m guilty, or because it will make me better, I know you said stop carrying the cross on my back...But I want to know.” 

Tony interrupts with a heavy sigh. “I thought we were fine. Good, better, even. Best we’ve been. Don’t do this to yourself, Steve.” 

“We are.” Steve drops down the couch beside Tony, who makes space for them to sit by the cushions facing each other. “It’s just, I hurt you. I want to know...the extent of it.” 

“Then, it’s just your guilt again.” Tony’s eyes flash as he says the words. “You want me to forgive you so you don’t have to carry that burden anymore. I’ve forgiven you, how many times do I have to tell you that? But, Steve. You’ll always carry it. It happened. It will be with you, just as it will be with me.” Tony shutters. “We’ll always remember, it doesn’t just go away.”

“I know, eidetic memory remember?” He offers a defeated smile. “I remember it all, everything. Your face. In Siberia, at the battle with Thanos. Everything, all the bad, but also, the good, the life we’ve created here. Just, sometimes I don’t know how to live knowing I hurt you,” Steve says, wincing. “You’ve given me so much here and I’m so grateful for it. Being here, with you. Morgan. Peter, too. I don’t know, Tony. Sometimes I just see your face in the bunker…”

He couldn’t help but think that he’s fucking it all up the more he opens his mouth. Steve’s eyes sting.

The present ruptures and the gates he’s carefully locked flood open. The guilt of the bunker, the undying melancholia that haunts his every step because of the violence he inflicted open up without caution. 

Rationally, Steve knew the reason he and Tony were out of touch for years was not only due to the legality of the Accords but what happened in the bunker. Tony’s told him many times over.

How the shield fell. 

No. How he slammed the shield down, in resignation and resentment. Not for Tony, but himself.

There’s a corner in Steve’s mind where all things related to Tony go. In there, there’s Tony's look of betrayal. Seared and unwilling to scab. 

Will it always be an open wound?

“Did it scar? How bad... T’Challa took you, right? That’s what he said. Told me he took you to Rhodes... and Pepper. Fuck, I left. Tony. Fuck,” Steve tries, opening his hand, palms forward for Tony to take. If he wants. 

“Yeah.” Tony shakes his head, shoulders slumming. “You left. I’m tired, darling. I really am. Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” 

“It breaks me when I think of Siberia. Of what I did to you.” He looks at his shaking hands, turns them into a fist. Tony flicks them with a frown.

“Yes, you hurt me.” Tony tilts his head. “But we’ve known that.” 

“I’ll carry that.” Steve nods. 

“You will, yeah.” Steve looks up to see Tony biting his lips. His hair is all rumpled. “If you really want to know... It was bad. Broken ribs, punctured lung. Bruised ego. Me, wallowing in the hospital room for weeks thinking our friendship wasn’t enough, turning over my memories to see where I fucked up.”

Steve sighs, eyes stinging. “You didn’t fuck up, Tony. It was me.”

“I know that now. I didn’t know then. Yes, you fucked up. I did too.” Tony shrugs, takes Steve’s fingers. “We’ll always have Siberia, Steve. A sick part of me is happy that you’re feeling like shit. Not gonna argue there. After everything that happened. You… what you did. To me. There. Your friend.” Tony pauses, looks away from Steve. When his gaze returns, it’s as cutting as shrapnel to the chest. Then again, Tony is familiar with the feeling. “I can’t help but feel like I wasn’t enough. Yet here I am. Here, choosing this. A life here with you.”

“I _am_ sorry. For hurting you.”

“Shut up, Steve, you already told me this. It’s boring. Trite. Hackneyed.”

“Tony,” he pleads, hands squeezing Tony’s fingers. It’s his life line. 

He couldn’t help but think Tony’s sparing him the worst of it. He’s always been the forgiving one. Braver than any man Steve’s ever known.

“It’s been said and done. I’m done. Plus, I told you that Barnes and I already had the heart-to-heart about Siberia. We were big boys and talked about it. And by that, I mean drank ourselves stupid and cried after you ran to Tahoe without even saying goodbye to me.” Tony glares at him, then continues, “So, I don’t wanna hear it, I don’t wanna hear your reasons. _I know._ I can rationalize the lies, or the omission, or whatever else you wanna call it for not telling me about my parents. You could have come to me, you know? Did I ever make it seem like you should hide things from me? I was your friend.” 

Steve lets Tony’s words wash over him. He doesn’t deserve this man, not by a long shot. Steve isn’t worthy of amazing things, no matter what an alien hammer’s judgement says about a man’s character. 

“I’m sorry, Tony. For not being decent enough, brave enough to tell you about your parents. You could have helped. You would have done a helluva better job handling the fall out from SHIELD and Zemo than I did.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” Tony flicks Steve’s palms with his mechanical hand, a sardonic smirk on his face before it shifts into something serious. Somber. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too.”

He gazes at Tony, confused. “What… why… you don’t need to apologize for anything, Tony.”

“No. I do. I’m sorry for not forgiving you. For letting you think all these years that I was upset, that you weren’t forgiven. I’m still hurt. About so much shit. But Steve, I can’t carry that anymore. Can’t let it fester, when I have so much to live for. I keep saying this, can’t you get it through your head?” Tony huffs, then laughs quietly. His shoulders shake. “I feel like we have talks like this every other Sunday, darling. How many times do you have to apologize? How many times do I have to remind you that we should just be happy?” 

Steve thinks back to Morgan doing cartwheels around the property. Braided hair bouncy as she runs back to her little tent, turtle in hand. He recalls Peter and Rhodes’s threats and the easy teasing from Bucky and Sam.

Of Tony between his legs, Steve’s chest pressed to his back as they sat by the docks. Tony trusts him to spend time with Morgan. 

Steve has things to live for too.

“Yes, I was hurt. It didn’t scar. Not really. I honestly can’t tell the difference from the arc reactor and everything else I’ve endured through other missions. Battles. I was hurt for a long time. Not physically.” Tony intertwines their fingers. “I know you’ve been hurt too. It’s just, you don't have a scar. But you remember.” 

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “I feel like I’ll always apologize.”

“Let’s just… stop. Stop the guilt. The apologies, we’ve already said this before. In the workshop remember? In the docks. In canoe rides, while bird watching. Over the sofa, over dinner….during walks. I’m tired, Steve. Please. Simple right? We want simple and easy.”

Steve grips their fingers, moving closer so he can bring it to his chest. He doesn’t want to let go. “Is it really like that? You just stop feeling guilty and like shit?”

“No.” Tony shakes his head. “But you don’t stop feeling like shit just because you’re forgiven either.”

“Tony. Thank you.” Steve chokes, a sob trapped in his chest. “For being here. With me. For this. For everything.”

“Yeah. Honestly, how am I the better adjusted one here?” Tony stands, looks over at Steve in exasperation. Brown eyes, wide. Expression open. There isn’t a smile on his face. But it’s close. “Besides, I thought you trusted me? Just follow my lead. I’m pretty good at winging things.”

Steve smiles, shakes his head. “Yeah you are.” He’s lost in Tony and the quiet understanding that passes between them. “Dinner?” Steve asks. “Wait, no. It’s almost five in the morning.”

Tony tilts his head, looking adorable with his mused hair. “Hm, it could be an early breakfast.”

“Are you... sad?” Steve asks, recalling their talk about breakfast food when they need comfort. 

“I’m alright, Steve. I think. I know we’ll have other nights like this, when we need to talk, when you need to say whatever’s on your mind. Things can’t be swept under the rug. Not with us. You’ll need assurances, I think. But I know I need them too. That’s okay, I think. You’re here. I’m here.”

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says, quickly, firmly. 

“Yeah, yeah you’re here with me. I know.” Tony smirks, eyes still droopy from sleep. “You’re making me waffles. With blueberries. I think you have some in your fridge.” 

“Oh, am I?” Steve challenges with a smile, mood already lightening. 

“Yeah, I’m the boss. FRIDAY would agree if she was installed.” He side-eyes Steve then looks down at his rumpled suit and frowns. Tony yawns, all tired and pouty like a cat. “Actually, I’m still wiped from the trip. Bed?”

He stands, pulling Steve up and walking them down the hall to the bedroom.

Astonished, Steve follows Tony mutely, gaze dipping down to where their fingers are laced. Flesh and mechanical. Steve will follow this man anywhere. 

He’s seen the end of the world without Tony. Anywhere Tony goes, Steve will follow, even if it means diving head first. 

Tony drops down on the bed and begins removing his clothing until he’s just in his boxers. Steve can’t help but stare at Tony’s defined shoulders and the scar on his chest. 

Tony looks at Steve, a bit shy and irritated.

“I’m too fucking lazy to walk across the bridge and I’m tired. So.” With a flush on the arches of his cheeks, he pulls at the quilt and gets into bed with an expectant look. “Hope you don’t mind. Sleeping on the couch will destroy my back and I already spend so many hours in a day bent over a table.”

“Er, yeah, it’s fine, of course,” Steve says, feeling a bit flushed and parched at the sight of Tony. “More than fine.” 

He and Tony have been gravitating towards more intimacy with each passing day. It’s nothing new. Steve’s held him on the sofa, Tony’s sat between the V of Steve’s legs. They hold hands and cuddle and Peter says they’re basically a couple. But Tony’s yet to say anything and Steve’s resolutely fine with letting their relationship take its course at Tony’s pace.

Tony arranges the pillows under his head, not looking at Steve. “Are you coming?” 

“Yeah, I’ll just…” Steve trails off, gesturing to the bathroom connected to the suite. 

It’s early in the morning that it’s still slightly dark, but the sun will be rising soon.

Steve examines his reflection in the mirror as he washes his hands. So this is the look of a man in love. He’s been in love with Tony Stark for so long, he doesn’t know when it began, can’t pinpoint one single moment, only that Steve’s entire life encompasses and burns for him. 

He combs his hair even though it will be mussed from being in bed. He’ll trim his beard in the morning. But for now, Steve steadies himself and returns to the bedroom. 

Tony’s lying on his side like a parentheses. He looks up as Steve lifts the covers and slides in. Steve turns so they face each other.

Summoning up Captain America’s bravery, he presses in the middle of the bed, attaching his hand to Tony’s hip and pulling him close. Tony goes willingly, happily even, with a tut. He places his hand on Steve’s chest. 

“Finally, took you long enough,” Tony says.

They breathe softly as the sun rises inch by inch, appearing through the glass windows. The curtains are still open and the dawn light filters in. Steve examines Tony’s eyelashes, new wrinkles on the edges of his eyes and mouth. His temples are tinted in a mix of gray and brown and his bare skin is warm against Steve’s pajama set. 

Next time, Steve will take the time to trace the scars on Tony’s sternum.

But for now, Steve holds on tighter, rubbing a hand across Tony’s back. There are new bumps there, like little valleys, all jagged and criss-crossed. His heart clenches. This man has been through hell and back.

Steve sighs, dropping his chin over Tony’s head. Belatedly, he feels tears falling from his face. 

“Go to sleep, you big lump.” Tony lightly taps Steve’s arm. 

Steve hums, “I will.” He just wants to watch Tony fall asleep first. “When are the kids coming home?”

“In a few days,” Tony mumbles, mouthing on Steve’s chest. “I’ll pick them up from Pep’s.” 

“We should take them to Yosemite,” Steve suggests. The snow is already melting in the lower elevations, making the waterfalls accessible and camping on site shouldn’t be too difficult. 

“You wanna go camping? Stargazing, hiking, and making s’mores by the fire. You’re such a fucking romantic, Rogers. You know, Morgan’s gonna be a pain about it. She’ll want to be carried the entire time.” 

Tony whines when Steve shrugs. “Yeah, why not? I’ll carry her.”

“Ok, you said that, no take backs. You’ll carry her the entire time. I’m not dealing with the incessant whining. Ugh, I can already imagine Peter swinging across the sequoia trees.” Tony sighs dramatically, “You better control your kids, Rogers.”

“Go to sleep,” Steve replies, heart twitching at the implication that Peter and Morgan could be his. 

“Fine,” Tony hums and snuggles in closer. “But don’t blame me when they start complaining about the hikes. Peter’s a city boy and Morgan...well, I guess we’ll see how she fares off. But if she makes a fuss about being tired, then you’re carrying her.”

“I’ll carry her, Tony.” Steve promises. “You wouldn’t have to lift a finger, dear.”

“That’s what I like to hear, my man.” 

Tony’s breathing evens out as the sun makes it way past the horizon. Steve kisses the top of Tony’s head, and inhales.

This is what holding your life in your arms feels like. 

Everything is fine. 

The world turns. He hears of missions from the New Avengers and worries alongside Tony. Steve watches Morgan grow taller and taller every time she returns from Pepper's. Izabel teases him non-stop whenever they have lunch at the cantina. The swallows hum and the robins sing. All the while, Tony stands beside him.

Simple and easy. 

He feels it all with clarity. Steve returns to his safest and most resolute place: Tony.

It always is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we only have two chapters left! *cries*
> 
> Thank you so much for joining me in this journey. Your comments, love, kudos, and support means so much!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _For Sapph._

The drive from Tahoe to Yosemite is uneventful, but they had to leave before dawn to ensure that driving into the park wouldn’t be hell. Steve’s been warned by Izabel that parking would make him want to bite his own fingers off, but the payoff of losing sleep is worth not having to deal with long lines into the park. 

Peter and Morgan sit in the backseat, pointing at the Sierra Nevada mountains in a distance as they play a game to pass time. Perhaps, Peter’s too old for such antics, but Morgan laughs and Tony chimes in on the punch buggy game. So, there’s really no age limit to play. They try to get Steve to join in on The Alphabet Game, and soon enough, they’re pulling up into the park. 

They’ve packed the truck with supplies for a three-day trip. Steve hopes this is just the first of many when he hears a couple rave about the hike up El Capitan on the North side of the Valley. 

Steve rearranges their individual sleeping bags, then their tents, coolers, and water supplies to get their day packs and their picnic basket. 

“Thank god you’re a super soldier,” Tony observes as Steve shuts the trunk and manhandles the hiking supplies, Tony’s backpack, and everything else in his arms. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark, I’m strong, too,” Peter admonishes lightly. “And sticky, I guess.”

“Just clear the way for us, Pete,” Steve replies, nodding for Peter to check the map to the Tuolumne Meadows. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me bring FRIDAY into this, Steve.” Tony shakes his head. They’ve bickered about the “rustic” and “natural” experience the last two weeks. “She could be leading us to the trail. All you had to do was put on some sunglasses and she’ll be right there.” Tony taps at his temples.

“You’re grounded from your tech while we’re here, remember?” Steve dips down so Morgan can secure his baseball cap over his head.

“Uh huh, yeah, honey.” 

Tony whines and sticks his tongue out. He carries Morgan with his mechanical arm easily, then turns to look at them with a mix of exasperation and affection. The sun shines high in early May, just in time for Spring and the fauna in the trails to appear. 

Under the cool breeze, Tony’s clad in a hiking get-up: workout long-sleeve shirt, cargo pants, and hiking boots. There’s a light hoodie tied to his waist and the mechanical arm peeks from his sleeves. He looks handsome, and Steve wishes he could see the eyes behind those shades. 

At least they were just plain old Tom Fords. No FRIDAY or upgrades. 

He's heard tales about the views from Angel and Augusto who spend every summer camping in the Tuolumne Meadows. But none of their second-hand stories have ever captured the stunning quality of seeing Half Dome in broad daylight or Olmsted Point at sunset. They could easily spend weeks camping in the national park. Some selfish part of Steve wants to just hide Morgan, Peter, and Tony from the world, keep them in this astonishing little bubble where they have nothing but the wilderness surrounding them.

While Lake Tahoe is striking with its crystal clear rivers, beaches, and folksy town, sometimes the nearby casinos and ski resorts further into the county take away from the quiet peacefulness of the area. Yosemite, however, buzzes with families, couples, and tour groups from all over the world interested in checking the Vernal Pools and the Nevada Falls off their bucket list. 

There’s something magical about being there with the trees in the distance, the grasslands, and simply breathing something with so much life. For a man who’s seen so much destruction, seeing the massive granites reminds Steve how tiny and insignificant he is compared to the expanse of the universe. 

There’s things in the world that existed before him and will continue to live on after him. But somehow, his entire life seems to tunnel under one word: Tony.

“Ready?” Steve turns to Tony for confirmation, lugging the two hiking bags up his shoulders and passing Tony Morgan’s kittycat page. Inside are notebooks filled with her notes and drawings of the Valley. 

She knocks her feet against Tony’s waist in excitement. “Let’s gooooo!”

“One thing I know in life is that we’re never ready,” he replies, covering Morgan’s ears and ignoring her pout. “But fudge it. Simple and easy right?”

Steve grins. “You won’t be saying that when we climb Half Dome.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “I have nano-tech.”

“No cheating!” Peter chimes in. “Steve said no tech this weekend. Gotta disconnect and be one with nature, eh?”

“Steve’s a super soldier. He has the stamina of an entire army, wouldn’t you call that cheating?” Tony raises an eyebrow at Peter’s contemplative look. “And I already bet Steve you’d be swinging across the trees at some point during the trip.”

“Fine, fine,” Steve says, leading Peter towards the Visitor’s Center for extra snacks and nicknacks. “We’ll go easy on you, old man.”

“Who you calling old? You’re the centenarian,” Tony snarks back, settling Morgan down so she could pick out whatever she wants from the store. 

They end up with seven bags of jerky, a case of juice boxes for Morgan even though Steve made sure to pack her favorite brand already, and bug-repellent for Tony who keeps threatening Peter with it as they walk to the open field. 

Despite Tony’s warning that Morgan might complain about the long walks, she takes to the park like a seasoned backpacker. She’s spent the last few weeks reading on Yosemite on her little tablet, watching documentaries on national parks with Steve in the afternoons, and pestering FRIDAY about random facts she should know about. 

Thus, she lectures them throughout the walk to Siesta Lake’s picnic grounds, rattling off things like, “Pools are formed because the soils are not well drained” and that, “the vernal pools and its soils and vegetation reflect the local topographic variation.” She seems to be quoting FRIDAY by verbatim and Steve couldn’t help but ruffle her hair as Tony gives him a look along the lines of, _can you believe this kid_.

So Steve replies, “She’s your kid, after all. She’s bound to be brilliant.” 

With that, Morgan grins at him then points at the granites in a distance. Steve and Peter can’t tell which ones they were specifically, and once again, Tony complains about FRIDAY not joining them. 

“Yosemite has U-shaped valleys because of the glaciation that occurred in the site a million years ago,” Morgan says with the air of someone smug and superior, but she looks at both Steve and Tony for approval.

“Yes, yes, I’ve got my own little FRIDAY over here,” Tony pulls at her pigtails.

Once they reach the Siesta Lake, Morgan continues, “The Meadows is subalpine, right, Steve? Remember from the documentary?” Steve nods, humming as she lets go of Tony to walk beside Steve, “In subalpine environments, we can find limber pine, foxtail pine, and mountain hemlocks.”

She trails off, muttering to herself. Steve’s heart twists. She’s just like Tony.

They sit by the alpine lake and set the picnic blanket. It’s mid-morning and they watch the birds fly high. Steve unwraps the containers of sliced fruit and passes Peter three hearty sandwiches. 

“Are you sure you packed enough food, Steve?” Tony raises an eyebrow.

Steve shrugs. “Well, you know us enhanced humans, we need our protein.” 

“I want grilled steaks for dinner if I have to suffer through camping,” Tony replies, “I still can’t believe staying in the lodges was vetoed. Sleeping on the floor is gonna kill my back.”

Steve makes him a plate filled with different cheeses, “I brought the air mattress. Besides, Morgan wanted the whole camping, backpacking national park experience.”

“Uh huh, Morgan, right.” Tony rolls his eyes with a smile. “I swear, you two are unstoppable.”

“When it comes to you, right, daddy?” Morgan asks.

Tony sighs, but there’s a smile playing along his lips, “yes, always, it seems.”

In their route to the Meadows, they walk along a creek. Steve’s been advised by Izabel to take the first two days away from the Valley as it's often crowded with the more popular attractions. 

While planning the trip, Steve and Tony decided on staying along the less populated areas, preferring to not draw attention to themselves. It’s been two years since the battle at the Compound; the world is still rebuilding and dealing with the aftermath. Steve didn’t want to be accosted by questions about the Avengers, much preferring the quiet life he’s lived lately. 

The Tuolumne Meadows runs along a clear river. They seem to be at the right place at the right time, because the sun slopes in the horizon and the contrast of the shadows make the surrounding trees reflect on the lake. Peter takes endless photographs with the camera Tony gifted him for their trip, snapping at the rocks on the path and hikers ahead of them.

“Hey, Peter.” Steve calls out, walking forward to catch up to Tony and Morgan. “Take one of us.”

“Okay, yeah, sure.” Peter gives him a smug look. Steve has no doubt that he’d probably text Rhodey or Sam about this. 

Steve lifts Morgan up and presses beside Tony, satisfied when Tony wraps an arm over Steve’s waist.

“Well, I guess, define ‘cheesy.’” Peter brings up the camera to his face and clicks.

“Cheese!” Morgan sticks out her tongue at the last minute as Tony holds up a peace sign.

Steve laughs, turning to Tony and the camera snaps again. 

Peter walks over and shows them the photographs. 

“We’ll have that framed,” Steve says, determined. “For the house.”

He looks like a goddamn sap on the photograph— he had his eyes on Tony and didn’t see Morgan press bunny ears behind his head. 

* * *

The meadows itself is a massive field surrounded by the domes at a distance and hundreds of different trails in the forest. They spend a few hours loitering around, awe-struck by the view. No words can do justice to describe it.

It is pretty much like Tony— Steve’s always lost for words when it comes to him. 

It's a warm afternoon as they begin the hike to Cathedral Lakes, taking photographs as they pass some of the peaks. They stuff some bags in a bear box before Steve hositers the hiking pack filled with more food and a gallon of water. 

Many times over, Tony threatens to put on the suit and fly though the trail, he even eggs Peter on for a race. 

“You’re so impatient, Tony,” Steve says, pausing to remove his flanneled fleece. He wraps it around his hips, copying Tony.

“I just wanna see the view already,” Tony replies, falling a step behind to wait for Peter to finish snapping photos of a set of boulders and a small clearing. 

But thus far, Morgan and Steve are content in the slow pace, stopping to note a specific type of tree, wildflowers, or landmark. 

Copying Steve, Morgan’s taken into picking some flowers and pressing them into her notebook. They both have leather bounds from a local artist in Tahoe. Tony purchased a matching set for them.

Lower Cathedral is a moderate hike that leads to the river, and on their way back up, they climb to the upper side, ending to see a picturesque lake with mountains in the back. They spend a couple hours on the trail, stopping here and there for a short break until Morgan declares herself tired. 

They do end up cheating because while Steve doesn’t break a sweat on the climb, Tony complains that he’s tired, old, and not enhanced. And can’t Steve please take pity on him? So, Peter fires up his webs, racing Tony in the suit until they make it to the end of their trail.

It’s quiet with only the occasional deer making an appearance. It’s just them and a few other individuals milling around, dipping their toes and fingers in the water as the sun sets on the horizon.

Steve rummages through the daypack and sets up another picnic for a late lunch, knowing that they all must be starving from the trip. He opens the trail mix and drops some in Tony’s awaiting hands before opening up a tupperware of vegetables and hummus. 

“Before you get to the age joke,” Steve jokingly narrows his eyes at Tony, “these formations are older than us. Well, most of us who walk around Earth. Maybe Thor’s a little older, but he’s not human, not from here.” Steve pauses, turning to Tony, “I guess it’s a good reminder that there was life before us, and a life after.”

“Yeah, Steve. We saw the end of the world and came out.” Tony nods, glancing at the sky. It’s pale blue, no clouds in sight. A perfect spring day. “You’ll remember to paint this for us, right?”

“‘Course. Would you like that?” Steve takes in the scenery. It’s late enough that it’s nearly evening, but the sun continues to shine high up. They’ll soon have to return to the campgrounds for dinner and setting up the tents. 

Tony takes his sunglasses off and looks up at Steve. His eye lashes are so long. Steve itches for a scrap paper to sketch them. 

Tony hums, a secret smile on his face. “You’ll remember all of this, won’t you?” 

Steve nods, understanding the underlying question in Tony’s wide eyes. “Yeah. Simple and easy.”

“Happy?” Tony pushes at him, half-turning to glance at Morgan and Peter trying to do cartwheels, skip rocks, and taking photos of birds chittering nearby. 

“I am.” Steve ruffles Tony’s hair, pushing back a long strand from the corner of his temple. “Happy, that is. It’s a good feeling.”

“Told you.” Tony says.

“Yeah, you did. Sorry it took me so long to realize.” Steve smiles over at Tony beside him, intertwines their fingers, and brings it to his lips. 

Tony returns his smile, satisfied. “It’s really something.”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve replies, pulling Tony in front of his chest so they can both observe the kids. Steve wraps his arms around Tony, tips his head to the sky, and breathes in.

* * *

Steve drops them off at Meadows camping ground shortly after eating and lounging by the waters, opting to get their tents and the rest of the gear out of the truck. When he returns, hefting their supplies, Tony’s on the picnic blanket with Morgan, both their backs against a tree.

“Steve,” she calls out, “we’re just looking at the flowers from today!” 

“Let’s see the ones you’ve got. Morgan was saying she wants to compare her collection with yours,” Tony chuckles, making the move to get up and help Steve with the set up.

“It’s alright, you two keep messing with your flowers. I’ll set up.” Steve shakes his head, calling Peter over for assistance. 

Steve sets the tarp down as Peter lays out the poles for the other tent. They get to work easily with Peter and Tony exchanging quips about the day trip and the photographs the former took throughout the hike.

Morgan shadows Steve's work and claps when they finally raise both tents.

Tony leans against the tree, a smug smirk on his face as Steve and Peter stuff the tents with sleeping bags and unload the grill and the rest of the cookset.

“Do you have feedback for us, Tony?” Steve asks, hands going to his hip. He mimics Tony’s grin and laughs. 

Tony shakes his head. “Just that you look good doing that,” Tony pauses, eyes darting to Morgan and Peter who had run to the lakes, then back to Steve, “taking care of us.”

Steve stammers, scratching at his beard and twisting his cap so the brim sits on his neck. “I’m glad to be doing something right for once.”

“Keep taking care of us, okay?” Tony smiles and shakes his head like he knows a secret Steve’s oblivious too. The man’s a genius, he figured out time travel, he knows loads more than Steve. But Steve will happily live in the curve of that smile as long as it's directed at him. “Dinner?”

“Yep,” Steve says with a pop. “You just sit there and look pretty and watch the kids.” He bends over, puts some coals on the grill and starts up the backcountry stove.

Dinner is a quiet affair. The steaks sizzle but they're drowned by idle chatter. Eventually, they all sit in a semicircle and dig in. Steve’s made eight steaks, three for him and Peter. Tony sighs about their metabolism and how their grocery list is so long they have to shop for an entire army just because Peter and Steve eat so much. Tony tuts and cuts up Morgan’s steak.

There are other campers in sight, but many just stick to their little camping grounds and stare at the spectacular view. Up ahead it's like the sun refuses to set and the lakes reflect the clouds.

Morgan yawns, nearly falling asleep on Tony’s lap as Peter continues snapping photos of them. He holds it up with his long arms and snaps a selfie of all of them. Perhaps, the kid will be a photographer one day. 

“Tired, baby?” Tony runs his hand over her head. She hums but they don’t make a move to get up, enjoying the shift to nightfall. There were so many stars, bright and twinkling. He wishes Tony and Morgan could see what he sees - it's all enhanced and feels like a promise.

Finally, Morgan stands and pads off to the tent with Peter in tow. 

Steve raises an eyebrow as she drags her cot and blankets to Peter and Steve’s tent. “I thought Peter and I were sharing?”

Tony shrugs easily, looking at the night sky. He leans against Steve’s shoulder. “I guess not.”

They take turns rinsing and brushing their teeth in the communal areas. After they’re all done, Morgan changes into her PJ’s and pads over to their camp.

“Goodnight, daddy.” She climbs Tony’s criss-crossed legs and kisses his cheek. Steve’s content on just watching them. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Tony pushes her hair back. “I didn’t know you and Peter fancied yourself as matchmakers.” 

“Uncle Rhodey said you’re a stubborn butt.” She smiles and it’s all Tony. She has Pepper’s nose, but the rest is all Tony, especially those big brown eyes. They had the same splash of green mixed in the hazel. 

“Well, your Uncle Rhodey says a lot of things.” Tony rolls his eyes.

Morgan gets up, moving over to hug and kiss Steve in the same way he did to Tony. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Steve replies, hesitating for a moment until he sees Tony looking at them. Steve kisses her temple and watches as she goes into the tent with Peter. They still have their lantern on, probably going over the photographs taken from the day's trip or texting MJ.

Tony and Steve make no move to leave their makeshift living-room in the camp after packing up their little backcountry kitchen. Instead, they lean against each other and turn to the night sky. 

“Is this how it felt when you were in space? Small. Miniscule?” The vastness of the sky is endless. It’s clear and bright enough to see galaxies. Brooklyn never had this while Steve was growing up, not with the hustle and bustle of the city, the demands of labor, and a war brewing. Even when he resurfaced from ice, the city had retained its busy quality. There was never a pause, a moment to breathe.

But here, there’s the quiet, and he doesn’t feel alone. 

“It sure as hell didn’t look like this,” Tony replies. He twists to look at Steve. “It was just dark. Asteroids and stars and aliens. As a man of science, you believe things that you can see with your own eyes. Seeing that the world—the universe—is so much more than we’ll ever know... it was a lot. Maybe it’s better not knowing. I’m always looking for answers, and I’m still learning to let that all go, Steve. And just sort-of,” Tony shrugs, “live this life. Stop wondering.”

“I’m sure that’s hard,” Steve says gently. “For a long time, I’ve thought that I'd like to go back to my own time. Back the to the 40s. But my time is here, isn’t it?”

“It is. _Hard._ You’ll go crazy with all the possibilities. That there’s universes out there, versions of us...who’ve gone through different things, have had different lives. Part of me wants to go and see it all. _I could,_ Steve. But, I have what I have here. That’s enough, isn’t it?” He flicks Steve’s wrists, again and again, with precision. “And… and I’m happy.”

Steve catches his fingers as Tony tries to flick him again. He brings it to his lips then intertwines it with his own. Tony’s flesh hand is calloused, rocky with burns and scars. Steve’s would be the same if he didn’t have the serum’s healing factor. 

“And yes, your time is here, Steve,” Tony says as if it’s the truth. Steve has no choice but to believe him. “Nebula, she kept me grounded those 21 days. I think some part of me wanted to give up, I think I did. I left Pepper a message. You, too.” He sighs, “I closed my eyes. Dead in the water. Then I wake up. The ship lands. Home sweet home. And you’re the first person I see.” Tony faces twists into a pained grimace. “The first person I saw was you. I didn’t know what it meant then.”

“And now?” Steve presses.

“Now… I think I know,” Tony replies, looking away. He gulps and flicks Steve’s crossed ankles. 

Steve savors the sting. They’re alive. Breathing. He can feel the nip on his skin. It doesn’t hurt like a punch to the face or a hammer to the head. It’s there for a second and he moves on with his life. Sometimes he thinks that these playful or irritated flicks are Tony’s way of reminding him that they’d fade out of this world soon enough, and why not just feel. 

Be happy. Simple. Easy, even.

“I close my eyes, and I see you,” Steve whispers, too afraid to even speak up. He croaks the words out, stumbling against the deep cold in his chest. “Always. Even when we were apart.” 

He spent all his life trying to figure out how to be: soldier, Captain America, Avenger, friend. It's sort of that quiet longing where he moves so much, so focused on the world around him with clear precision, that Steve forgets who he is. There's a certain will to bend himself, a moral compass guiding his acts, but in that, he's defined himself solely based on those behaviors. Some days he still feels like he’s wearing a mask in a masquerade ball— going through life with different faces.

His life has begun in these last two years. No longer afraid of stagnancy, of being terrified of what he can't have. He's still a coward at the end of the day, especially standing next to Tony. But along all of this is someone who's accepting life, no longer just existing for the next mission, waiting for the next blunt trauma to go through. 

Life could be quiet too. Simple and easy.

Tony stares at him, head tilted, a slight frown on his face. “You thought of me?”

“All the damned time, Tony,” Steve admits, willing himself to say the rest of what’s on his mind. “I think of you, and I think that... You’re too good to me. I don’t like me, sometimes, but you see the best of it all. Sometimes I think I don’t deserve it. Another chance. You. You're this thing I can't speak… Can’t utter. It's like my brain shuts down and all the respect I have is a trapped bullet that's healed over. I don't know if that makes sense, Tony.”

Tony nods, shifting on his knees. “Some things are best left unsaid. All I know is that I’m tired. I just want peace. We can have that now, Steve.” Tony leans against Steve’s shoulder, head turned up at the sky. “I prefer seeing it with this view. It’s not as frightening. It’s just like life is waiting to start.” 

Steve swallows, thumbing Tony’s wrist, feeling the beat of his heart. “I wonder if it’s true. If the stars are where our dead go. My mom used to say that’s where my father went. Now, though, after all we’ve seen in battle... you, in outer space with aliens and gods. I doubt it. But it’s a nice thought, don’t you think? A nice thing for children to look up to— something untouchable that we keep yearning for.”

“We can still believe in that, despite all of what we already know.” Tony kisses his shoulder, bringing a smile to Steve’s face. “Many stories, feelings, types of love can exist all at once. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, you know. I’ve learned that these past few years. Sometimes, Steve, it just is. We can question it, debate it, yell all about it and how it doesn’t make any fucking sense. But it’s not really the question of _what_ , I think… it’s the feeling. Don’t call me a sap or romantic, I’m onto something here… I think it’s almost about _how_... how we love, I guess.” 

There isn’t any doubt that what Steve feels is just one ordinary word. Somehow it could all be condescended into four banal letters: love. 

Steve’s maybe biologically in his late 30’s now. He lived through a war, woke up to a new century, lived through more violence, then had to try and find some semblance of normality after half the universe vanished. But he’s lived his life in extremes: another era, war and peace, always questioning the _why_ of life and why it unfolds a certain way. He wondered why the thread was cut with butter knives resulting in jagged lines and loose parts. 

But Tony’s right, Steve realizes. It’s about how— how life unfolds, the way people live their lives, and how they choose to show love... maybe that will answer why. Because Steve knows, deep within him why he loves Tony, but to articulate it into words feels like injustice, like stringing along boring vowels. It’s ineffable. Maybe nothing will ever surmount or capture what Steve feels. But it’s there, deep within him; he almost wants to yell because he’s coming apart at the seams with how much he wants this. Wants Tony.

“You should have been a philosopher,” Steve teases, instead.

“Wow, you need to read up on your history of philosophy then, because science began as philosophy, and philosophy as science,” Tony replies, all arrogant and self-assured. Steve wants to kiss the smirk off his face.

Instead, Steve brings Tony’s hands to his chest, keeping it there like he’s done dozens of times when they have doze off on the sofa or sit by the lake at home. 

The stars continue to twinkle. They’ll exist after the sun rises.

Maybe good things will do the same. 

“Are you looking for a shooting star? The skies are clear enough that the probability of seeing one, no, a couple, is high.” Tony points excitedly, “Look, there’s one there now. Make a wish.”

Steve shakes his head, glancing at Tony’s profile. The slope of his nose. The light from the lamp casts shadows on his face. “I don’t need to. I’ve got everything I need. Everything I ever wanted, really. _Here._ A home. It’s more than enough.” 

“You’re such a fucking sap. Come here.” Tony rolls his eyes, then climbs over Steve to sit in the space between his legs. It seems to be their favorite position. Steve opens his arms then envelopes Tony into an embrace, pressing Tony’s back to his chest. Then, more subdued, he turns his head over to Steve. “Do you mean that?”

Steve bends his head down, noses Tony’s neck, and replies, “says the one who was just musing about love and shooting stars. And yes, I mean that.”

“Shut up, darling,” Tony flicks Steve’s fingertips—the ones resting over Tony’s stomach.

Later, they’ll go to bed, and Steve will pull Tony to him, again, and again, until they’re glued together. But for now, Steve sighs, breathing in the scent of Tony’s hair after a long day under the sun. They’re alive. And that’s enough.

* * *

The coyotes sing in the morning. 

Steve wakes at dawn, just as the sun trickles through the grassland. Beside him, Tony is wrapped up in Steve’s arms, blanket pushed down to their hips.

He doesn’t know how they’ve come this moment. For two people who are good at fighting words and digging at fresh scabs, they were mending. Tony’s said many times over: simple and easy. 

So Steve follows, doesn’t question the way in which they gravitate to each other. He’s just thankful for the open affection and willingness for reconciliation. Tony’s right; happiness doesn’t come. Steve can’t wait for it— Tony’s chosen it. For them. And wherever he goes, Steve’s determined to follow. Be it hell or an alien spaceship in another galaxy. 

Fuck it, don’t let him go, Steve repeats to himself.

Tony sleeps for a few more hours. Steve just stares at him, a sight he’ll never tire of. He’s seen Tony bruised and battered after battle, exhausted and filled with regret after landing on Earth, viscous, angry, barking curses at Steve. 

But he’s also witnessed Tony soft, arms open for Morgan or Peter to slip through. Now, Steve watches him, asleep, vulnerable. Eyelashes long enough to press under his eyes. There's a new line on the edge of his temples and Steve knows that it wasn’t there weeks ago. Tony still has his classic goatee, but its lines are no longer immaculate, not like they were back in 2012 or even 2016. This time, the hairs of his beard are lighter, a mix of light browns, black, and white. He’s sporting a stubble, too. Steve wonders if he’ll get to sit Tony on the edge of the bathtub and shave it for him one day. He hopes... he hopes. 

His heart warms, knowing that they’re both growing old together. 

Steve’s seen hundreds of expressions cross this man’s features: betrayal, trust, forgiveness. He’ll never forget each one. Maybe, after they return home, Steve will sketch it out as Tony works on his workshop. Or maybe he’ll recall it from memory as he sits out, watching Morgan and Peter wreak havoc outdoors. 

Too soon, Tony’s eyes open, and Steve smiles, proud that Tony is the first thing he sees in the morning. Steve traces the slope of Tony’s body with his index finger. Up and down, up and down, then he brings it to Tony’s eyes, attempting to wipe the sleep from them.

“Morning,” Tony yawns, stretching both arms then plopping back down. He rocks the air mattress and bullies Steve for breakfast and coffee. 

He’ll never tire of the sight as long as he sees it every morning. 

“Yes, dear.” Steve makes the move to get up, get their day started. Soon the two little munchkins will rise and demand to be fed too. Best to get Tony’s coffee ready. 

“Wait,” Tony pulls him back, tucking his head on the curve of Steve’s bicep. “In a minute…” Tony looks up at Steve, then drops his head to Steve’s chest. “Just hold me for a while.” 

“Okay,” Steve hums, content to stay still.

Tony closes his eyes again, and soon, Steve falls back asleep.

* * *

They’ve just finished breakfast when Peter suggests a swim to rinse off yesterday’s grime from their hair since the shower lines were long. 

“Jesus.” Tony shakes his head, a bit disgruntled. “I feel like I’m back in Tennessee and on the run from Killian again.” 

“Just get in, daddy.” Morgan extends a hand in offer. She’s in her bathing suit, splashing around the shallow lake. 

“I’ll wait in line for the communal showers instead,” Tony mutters darkly, glaring at Steve and dropping their towels on the picnic blanket. “Full on experience, huh?” 

“Peter and Morgan don’t seem to mind,” he replies with a grin. 

“You can try your luck at the waterfalls later, if you prefer,” Steve chuckles, removing his dirty jeans. The red and blue flannel comes off next. 

“Jesus,” Tony says again, wide eyes. “I’ve seen this before, yeah,” he points to Steve in his a-shirt and down to his boxers. “But damn. You’re really making this whole bearded cowboy lumberjack thing work. And the fact that you’re on a lake with all the trees.” He throws up a hand. “Why don’t you ever walk around like this at home?” 

Steve doesn’t try to will away the blush creeping up his neck. Objectively, he’s been told he’s handsome but that was usually with the Captain American mantle. It’s still a surprise when Tony calls him cute, Captain Handsome, or looks up and down his body. 

“You sure you don’t wanna get in?” Steve raises an eyebrow, then thinks, fuck it. They were just cuddling, he wiggles his fingers playfully. “I’ll let you ride on my back as we go further in the water.”

Tony pretends to be affronted, hands on his hips. “Mr. Rogers. Not in front of the kids.” 

Steve half turns to the water, half-chucking his bacon-smelling a-shirt off. 

Tony walks over, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that?” 

Tony points to Steve’s back. 

Steve forgot about that. For all the times they’ve cuddled together, whether on the couch or in Steve’s own bed, he’s always kept his shirt on. Tony blew caution to the wind and said he prefers to sleep only in his boxers. Steve doesn’t mind that at all. He loves the feel of Tony’s skin against his own, tracing the lines across his back. Steve, though, hasn’t been forthcoming about what lies on his skin.

“Oh,” Steve replies, willing himself to stop the sudden nervousness at displaying something so significant and formative to his life. “That. Yeah, tattoos.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, tattoos. Obviously.” He moves closer, inspecting the ink on Steve’s upper back. It spans his traps and the edges of his shoulders. “When’d you…” 

It was something he chose for himself. For his body. 

“I got it six months after moving to Tahoe. Angel’s cousin was in town for a few weeks and wanted some practice. I wanted to support them, and well,” he shrugs. “I wanted something for myself. A memory. Reminder.” 

Steve twists the shirt between his fingers, unsure of how Tony would react. Just behind them, Peter and Morgan are messing around, calling them over and splashing water on each other.

“Hummingbird, huh?” Tony quirks a smile, seeming to adjust quickly to Steve’s sudden apprehension. 

“Yeah, I quite like them.” 

Steve turns to his back for Tony, further displaying the rest of the image inked on his skin for perusal. “And an eastern bluebird. Well, that’s familiar,” he says with a half-snort or laugh, maybe even a sob.

Steve wishes he could see Tony’s face at that very moment. He exhales, drops his head and looks at his bare feet against the dirt. 

Tony’s mechanical fingers trace the lines on Steve’s back. The two massive birds share a branch, faces turned to each other. They look angry even with their heads bowed in submission. The ink spans from his traps, the middle of his back, and near the edge of his shoulders.

“The shading and the ink really pops on your skin.” Tony outlines one of the birds on his left shoulder, praising the care and effort and hours put into the drawing. “Did you design it?”

“Yes,” Steve nods, scratching his head, eyes focused on the scene in front of him. Morgan and Peter are quiet now, just swimming around the area and waving at them. “From memory. It was uh... that one day. Do you remember?” 

He closes his eyes, seeing him and Tony years ago sitting side by side on the Tower’s rooftop.

“Oh... I remember, yeah. We were on the roof, sitting side by side. Laughing, easy,” Tony whispers, fingers dancing along Steve’s back. “Well, it wasn’t easy then, with everything happening— Avengers and missions. But it’s easy now. So, sort of the same, I think. I like it,” Tony declares, running a palm down Steve’s back, then turning him by the hips.

“Yeah?” Steve places a hand on Tony’s shoulder, then raises a hand and cups Tony’s jaw. 

Tony nods, smiling. “They look good together.” 

Tony runs a few fingers in Steve’s beard, pressing and scratching until Steve wrinkles his nose playfully. He can do that now.

“Alright then.” Tony shrugs with a smile. 

“Alright?” Steve dips slightly to kiss the thumb resting on the side of his lips.

Tony inclines his head and presses a kiss to Steve’s sternum. “Yeah. Alright. I think you’re finally getting it, Rogers.” Tony chuckles, head shaking. “Now go get your shower so we can get to the falls by lunch.” 

* * *

The waterfalls are about a four mile walk from their camp. They pack up the camp and bring their daypacks for an afternoon hike. 

Once again, Morgan begins reiterating facts about the ecosystem, animals in the area, and the flora. 

“Steve, did you know that igneous, metaphoric, and sedimentary rocks are the three main rocks? The first one is formed when magma cools and hardens and also, there’s two types. What were they, dad? Oh! Yeah, plutonic and vol-volcanic. Sedimentary rocks are formed when all of these sediments accumulate and harden into a rock. It’s basically like a mixed up rock, Steve. And then finally…” 

“Metamorphic rocks,” Tony supplies easily. 

This turns into a series of questions about sediments and evolution, which Peter begins to explain. Steve turns to Tony, content. 

Tony winks at him and moves across the path so he and Steve can walk side by side.

The trail is somewhat busy, with backpackers milling around the creeks and stones. The river that runs all along Tuolumne feeds into the waterfalls. The trail reaches a footbridge, and they cross the river that feeds into the waterfalls. 

Upstream, the river picks up speed as it descends into the falls. Steve stares, feeling the water sprinkle against his skin. A little reminder that he’s awake. Alive. In the present with Tony.

Steve points to the water and says, "Its height is always debated. You can't tell where it begins or where it ends.”

“Sometimes it’s better to not just look. Stop wondering.” Tony bumps their shoulders. “You wanna get in?”

Steve shakes his head, fingers dripping down to catch Tony’s own. “I’ll just enjoy it here.” 

He looks at their laced fingers and thinks that maybe there’s something better than looking. It’s doing. He brings Tony’s fingers to his lips and kisses the knuckles. One for each. 

They spend the entire afternoon there, loitering around the boulders and dipping their fingers in the waters. Steve lays out the blanket and unpacks lunch while Tony flops on his stomach just watches him. Steve doesn’t feel flustered by Tony's sharp, observing gaze anymore. Tony’s looking at _him_ when there are so many other worthy, deserving things of his attention.

Steve pulls out his sketchbook and draws. Tony laughs as Morgan runs over and takes out her own leather bound to sit beside Steve. They do a study of the movement of the waterfalls, taking care to detail the ripples in the sketch.

“Draw daddy, Steve.” Morgan pulls at his flannel and points at Tony.

Tony snorts, eyes crinkling in chagrin. “He already draws me all the time, sweetheart.”

Steve glares at him, a little embarrassed. “You’re not supposed to know that. Or you’re supposed to pretend not to know about that, at least.”

“I’m a genius, I know everything.” Tony throws a hand in their direction then tucks it back under his head. He turns to Steve, eyes calculating. “Plus, you always drew me when you snuck into my workshop and acted like you were doing a character study of DUM-E or U. Don’t deny it.” 

“Yes, if you know everything then you must know…” Steve trails his eyes over Tony’s form where he’s sitting over looking adorable and ruppled from the hike. 

Tony laughs, raising an eyebrow. “I _know_ , Steve. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.” 

“Dad, I’m confused.” Morgan scowls. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Steve says, running a hand over her head. He pulls a face at Tony, who laughs with his entire body shaking in return. “Let’s draw your dad then, since he’s so fond of having our attention.”

“That’s right.” Tony winks over, half turns his body so he’s on his side and grins at them. He pulls on a smothering look and pouts his lips.

Beside them, a camera clicks and Peter belly laughs. “Wow. How much do you think GQ would buy this for?” 

“I’m still at my prime, Peter! That’d be a half a million before negotiations.” Tony exclaims, and exaggerates another pose, lifting his hips and putting an arm to the side of his head. 

“You look like a mermaid,” Morgan says.

“Hm, is that so? I guess I’ll be waiting for my prince.” Tony winks.

The trail back to the Meadows campgrounds is much more subdued with both Peter and Morgan tired from chasing each other around and talking. So much talking. Steve lets their conversations wash over him, happy just to listen and note the ways their voices change pitch. 

In this part of the trail, the sunsets are framed by a diverse set of trees with the peaks looming. It's all dark blue hues, brooding and angry, but softened by the sliver of bright oranges and pale lavenders peeking through. 

He looks at Tony, enclosed half in the shadows and half in the setting sun, and thinks, yes, this is what happiness feels like.

* * *

They exchange stories over dinner, mostly about Peter’s time catching up in high school, his adventures as Spiderman with the New Avengers. Carol’s taken him under her tutelage and she’s flanked by Rhodes and Bucky who treat Peter like a little brother.

“They’re too protective,” Peter complains.

“Well, we hold on tightly to things we love, kid,” Tony replies, biting into his burger. “Rhodey’s a big overprotective teddy bear.”

Steve nods in agreement. “Bucky is the same way.”

“Oh yeah, don’t even get me started on that.” Tony snickers, shaking his head. “He gave me a shovel talk, Steve. I swear, now that he and I are all buddy-buddy, his threats are pretty empty. Plus, I could totally take him with this arm.” Tony flexes, exaggerating a bicep curl.

“I dunno, Shuri’s work is pretty good. Might be better than yours, Mr. Stark.”

“Blasphemy!” Tony exclaims good naturedly. “Well, nah, Shuri’s brilliant. I’m sure me and Barnes are evenly matched.”

The conversation evolves into cheers when Steve packs up the dishes and Tony whips out the bag of marshmallows, crackers, and chocolate. The kids cheer and sweet-talk a couple into sharing their firepit with them. Tony drops on the log across from the couple and engages them in a conversation while Peter and Morgan shovel marshmallows into sticks and wave it over the fire.

Steve cleans up quickly as Tony waves him over. 

He catches the question from the brunette woman, “Yeah, it’s just us. We’re from New Mexico, took the van and drove up through the Great Basin till we got here. We’ve been here for a couple days now.” She tilts her head, maybe recognizing Tony, but not saying anything. She looks so young. Steve wonders whether she was part of the decimation. “Who are you here with?”

“I’m just with my family.” Tony returns a smile and shrug, gesturing at the kids then half-turning to point at Steve. 

Both women follow Tony’s gaze and wave.

Steve swallows, chokes down the sob. He breathes in, straightens, and marches over. He settles a hand on Tony’s shoulder before sitting on the end of the log beside him. He greets the couple, shakes their hands, before Tony hands him a stick with a burnt marshmallow. 

Steve grabs it, thanks him, then shoves the gooey thing between the chocolates and crackers. Tony feasts over his own s’mores, licking his fingers clean. 

The two women tilt their heads, look at each other, and have a silent conversation. Steve recognizes it. Peter says that Steve and Tony do it all the time. 

The women introduce themselves as Phoebe and Ana; they coo at Morgan, but murmur a conversation to themselves, losing themselves in each other. Later, the blond, Phoebe, takes out a guitar and strums a familiar song, spurring Tony to begin a debate about AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, rock music, and the depressing songs that came out after the decimation. Both girls, along with Peter were happy to oblige him. For the most part, Steve listens, dropping an arm to Tony’s waist.

He looks at the sky. Bright, powerful, full of light. No flash of red, not lately. Not in a while. 

Steve thinks, maybe, Nat’s still watching. Only, this time, she no longer has to tease him. Maybe she’s content.

All Steve knows is that he’s happy.

He replays Tony’s words just earlier: _I’m just with my family. I’m just with my family. I’m just with my family. I’m just with my family._

Tony’s face— lips upturned, words about family slipping easily as if it was factual— as if they didn’t have to go through hell and back. No, shit, another fucking _timeline_ to have the family they have today. Steve feels raw, happy but also confused. He’s part of a family. But it isn’t whole, with the team scattered across the country, some even dead. He breathes heavily, leans further into Tony’s space. Let’s the chatter wash over again. 

_I’m just with my family._

Maybe family can’t be whole or happy. Maybe it’s like love, a little fucked, a little spiked on the edges. 

But he has it. 

Oh. 

And he’s not going anywhere.

He’s home... he’s tired and there’s a place for him in the world. With a family. 

Steve belongs somewhere. To someone. To maybe two, three people. He returns his gaze to Tony, moves his arm from Tony’s back to his shoulder, then drops a kiss on his head.

Tony turns to him in question, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Happy?” 

Steve nods in affirmation.

* * *

They wash up quickly, tired from the day, and soon, it’s midnight. Peter and Morgan are asleep and the rest of the campers in their vicinity have their lights off. 

Their tents are at the edge of Meadows, closer to the trees, keeping them in their own private bubble. Steve feels safer seeing the campgrounds from that point too. 

Inside the tent, Steve strips off his pants, chucks his shirt, and pulls on some sweats and a henley. Tony glances at him before cladding himself in a similar get up. Yosemite evenings in the spring are cooler, ranging under fifty degrees, so Tony pulls on long-sleeve thermal and gray joggers. He points to the mattress. 

Steve mock-glares, pumps the mattress with more air, then fluffs the pillows. “Good enough for you, your highness?”

Tony nods seriously. “It’ll do.”

“Brat.” 

Tony gets on the bed, the side closest to the edge of the tent. Steve settles on the outside beside him. He turns to Tony, raising the blankets to their shoulders. 

They’re two parentheses, bodies turned over each other. Their smiles, curved, like a comma. Endless like a run-on sentence. 

It’s like Steve’s thoughts when it comes to Tony.

He stares, presses closer, and drops his palm to Tony’s middle back. He’s done this many times now and each time is still a surprise that Tony doesn’t push him off. 

“Did you mean it?” He follows the lines around Tony’s eyes. 

“Did I mean what?”

“What you told the couple… that you’re here with your family.” Steve blinks his eyes close for a moment. He takes a deep breath, listening to the beat of Tony’s heart. He opens his eyes, searching Tony’s.

Tony licks his lips, tongue peaking out. “Why would I say something I don’t mean?” He swallows, pressing a finger tip on the crease of Steve’s eyes. “I say what I mean, Steve.”

“Not always.”

“I do now.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony murmurs, eyes catching the wet spots by Steve’s temples. 

“I’m your family?” Steve asks, needing to hear the words again. 

“Yes, you’re my family, Steve.”

The tears soon follow. Steve doesn’t try to stop them. He thinks, it’s alright to cry in front of Tony. It’s okay, everything will be fine. Grab the rope. Why can simple words be so overwhelming? He’ll never figure Tony out and the ease in which he’s willing to invite Steve into his life.

Steve resurfaces, overwhelmed and in awe, and looks at the man in front of him. Tony watches him, both flushed and concerned. He has a line on his cheek, new creases, more freckles.

Steve wants to know it all—map the dashes on his face, the scars on his back. He won’t run away when he finds the one’s he’s placed on Tony’s chest. 

Steve holds his breath. “Even if I’ve been awful?”

Suddenly, Tony’s face breaks into something so close to Steve’s memory of him in Siberia. Tony pauses, nods his head slow and removes Steve’s hand from his waist.

Steve’s entire universe breaks apart, inch by bloody fucking inch.

He’s seen this... he should have known. He can’t keep nice things. His eyes sting and the tears just keep coming, seemingly infinite now. 

Then, Tony’s face shifts into something familiar: a slight tilt of the lip that’s both open and jaded. He takes Steve’s hand and puts it on his chest, his sternum where the arc reactor rests. A blue light anchoring them, refusing to fade into the night.

Tony mends the universe back together.

“Even then.” Tony nods, eyes wet, so soft spoken, Steve barely hears it.

“We can love things that are not good for us. _Know_ we shouldn’t… but we do it anyway. That’s why I’m here, Steve.” Tony bites his lip, looks away, then back again. His eyes are welling up, Steve clutches his face, turning Tony so he can’t turn away. Tony’s lips tremble, he breathes out. “Why else would I be here?” 

“Do... you think I’m bad for you?” Steve asks, voice breaking at the last word. His head spins and it's hard to get his lungs to work.

“I think you were both. At one point in our lives, yeah.” Tony shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. He seems to come to some sort of conclusion, face flushed. “No, Steve. You’re the best thing. But you could be my worst, too. And... I think,” Tony huffs. “I think that’s okay. I’m choosing that. I’m giving you the rope. Just... please. Don’t hang it around my neck.”

“Tony… Tony,” Steve whispers, again and again. He doesn’t know how many times he calls out Tony’s name. All he knows is that it begins quietly, then the next thing, tears are streaming down his face.

He. 

Can’t. 

Stop. 

Crying. 

He can't control his ragged breath. The air feels stale. His chest burns. 

He’s lightheaded, drifting, falling back into the arctic. It’s cold everywhere. He can’t feel his face or determine where his hands are. They feel heavy and useless. He can’t even talk. Maybe he’s mumbling, stuttering, choking on sobs. 

Steve thinks he hiccups, but he can’t focus on anything. The world is fuzzy and there’s only a single focal point. He closes his eyes; thinks he hears Tony’s voice, calm, smoothing. There’s a hand—Tony’s—and it pulls him close. Their bodies press together, then there’s a hand in Steve’s hair, tilting his head back. Telling him to breathe.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. And again, and again.

There's a hand on his face—warm and mechanical—Tony’s. It radiates heat and smells metallic—a hint of grease and chocolate. 

Steve focuses on that, follows as the palm moves his head, then there’s a weight on top of him. He listens to the heart beat above him. It isn’t normal or calm. It falters, stops once, twice, the hammers on... and on… and on. 

Tony. Alive. Above him.

Steve opens his eyes, completely confused. Tony’s face is right above his own, he’s got his arms wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, and he’s crying, too. 

It’s so ridiculous that they’re here—in this space, at this very moment, surrounded by the trees and the howls of the bobcats and coyotes. The wind rustles and there’s nothing to separate them from the burning stars and its angry, spiteful sky but a tent. 

Steve snorts, and it’s an ugly, gut-wrenching choke. His shoulders shake again, just as Tony’s and they’re both sobbing and laughing. Tears streak Tony’s face and they drop all over Steve’s chest, his face. So much so that he can’t tell the difference between his own waterworks and Tony’s. 

Steve tastes saltiness on his lips and there’s no doubt that it’s both him and Tony, so he presses up, kissing Tony’s chin and wherever else he can reach. He presses his lips on the wetness of Tony’s eyes, his lashes, the space of his cheekbones. Steve moves further forward, sitting up, so that Tony’s now straddling his hips. 

Steve dives back in as Tony dips his head, pressing their foreheads together. He tilts further up, kissing Tony’s chin again. It’s wet, like the rest of their faces.

Steve doesn’t stop kissing Tony’s face and while the tears slow down, they continue streaming.

This is his entire world. Lifeline. The single thread that holds him together. 

His family. 

His best and worst.

Tony.

Steve pulls back, swallows, he feels splayed, all over, raw and burnt. He feels sad and happy and full of doubt, and rage—at himself, at Tony, at the world. He realizes, in that moment, well, shit, that’s love, isn’t it?

He looks at Tony, red-rimmed, eyes wide, lips red. 

“I... I won’t tie it on your neck. I’ll tie it on mine before I even hurt you,” he vows. “I’ll do my best to make you happy. Whatever it takes, Tony.”

“...Steve,” Tony croaks, sounding offended and confused. 

Tony begins to say something, but Steve shakes his head. “— no, let me say this.” 

Steve braces himself, trying to think, but his brain doesn’t seem to work. His face still feels cold. He grabs Tony’s mechanical hand, intertwines it with his own, puts it to his chest. It grounds him.

“Tony. I saw the end of the universe and all I thought of was you.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything, but his face crumples, and they're both wrecked, laughing and sobbing. Tony has snot running down his face. Steve’s own face feels tight and his beard is sticky.

“At the end of it. I hear your scream in the battle, so many times over. Over and over. In my dreams, in my memory. I can’t tell the difference.” He gulps, shaking his head, irritated that his vision is blurry with tears again. “How many times do I have to come close to losing you? Falling out of the sky after you carry a nuke on your back. In the bunker. In the Compound. The world’s ended for me so many times over now, and at the end of it all... There was you.” 

Steve thinks _fuck it._ He leans forward, and Tony, perfect Tony, sees it and leans to meet him half-way. Their lips touch soft, gentle for a moment, until Tony opens up and Steve slips his tongue inside. Steve grabs Tony’s waist, grounds it to his hip, and with his other, cups Tony’s jaw, pressing in deeper. 

Their lips are a mix of minty toothpaste and salty tears.

 _You, you, you, you,_ Steve repeats between kisses.

Steve pulls back for a moment, pleased as Tony pulls at his shoulders and mashes their lips back together. Steve thinks Tony is smiling through the kiss because his tongue touches Tony’s teeth. Tony begins nibbling Steve’s bottom lip. He closes his eyes, getting lost in it and giving back as much as Tony shoves at him. Steve kisses back, stifling his moans as Tony shifts forward, pressing his erection against Steve’s stomach.

Steve leans back, eyes searching Tony’s, who nods, then Steve drops back to the mattress. Tony winces at the noise of the plastic. 

Tony hushes them, hissing, “we have to be quiet. The kids are just right there.” He throws a hand to their left. The other tent is about ten yards away. 

Steve nods, kisses Tony’s sternum, licking at the scar on the edges of the arc reactor. He scoots further in the bed, moving the pillows. Another rip and noise from the bed. He bites his lip, looking at Tony’s glare. 

“Floor?” Steve asks, throwing the blankets to space beside the mattress.

Tony hops off, lays on the haphazard bedding, and looks up at Steve. His head tilts in question. The mood turns somber, easing away from the desperation just moments ago.

Steve moves to the floor and frames his forearms right above Tony’s head. 

He presses down, rocking a bit. Tony bites his lip, eyes falling shut, a quiet groan emerging from him. 

Slowly, Steve sways forward, grinding his hips and kissing Tony’s neck then trailing up to his lips.

Steve breathes in. There’s a single tear dripping from Tony’s left eye. 

It’s pitch black outside but the reactor's glow offers them some light—just enough for Steve to see Tony’s face, shadowed. 

“Am I enough?” Tony asks, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a call back from the first weeks Tony moved to the lake house: _The Tower wasn’t enough?_

Now, Steve knows that Tony had really meant what he utters now. 

Then, Steve remembers the conversation in Tony's workshop months ago, when Steve asked a similar question—Tony grabbed him, rearranged them so Steve held Tony. _You should be good enough for you,_ Tony replied. 

Steve nods, kissing the tear away. “You’re enough. You are, Tony. God… you’re more than...” Steve shakes his head, his nose touches Tony’s and he stays there. He whispers, “you’re enough. You’re exactly what I said. At the end of the universe, there was you. All I thought of was you. Just you.” 

“Steve, I’m here, baby,” Tony says, fingers prodding at Steve’s eyelids. He pushes Steve back and they stare at each other, faces swollen and blotchy, “I’m here, baby. You hear that? I’m not going. You’re not leaving. You’re here, with me. Remember?” 

Steve nods, dropping his head to Tony’s neck and kisses it. Tony’s hand comes from Steve’s shoulder, tracing the patterns of the tattoo, then his fingers move to Steve’s hair.

Tony tightens his grip, forcing Steve to look up. He licks his lips, eyes wide, intense, jaw jutted forward. 

“Love me,” Tony says, and Steve wonders how something as soft as that can sound like both a demand and plea.

Steve kisses him, speechless. He does the next thing that makes sense. Steve slithers down a bit, hovering on one arm as Tony kisses him back and pulls at the strings of Tony’s joggers. 

Tony looks up at him, mouth open, he repeats again, “Love me.”

And Steve just wants to tell Tony that his love feels so much like resentment, fury, and being overwhelmed, but it’s also this fragile, barely there thing that’s filled with so much loss and wonder. Yet, between their bodies, Steve thinks something else blooms. 

Trust. Family. And the universe ends once again.

Steve shakes his head in an effort to get rid of his blurry vision. “I will, Tony.”

Tony tilts his head, hand still on Steve's hair, and presses half-kisses to the edge of his lips. He gazes at Steve, lingering. Steve groans or sobs, he can't tell the difference anymore. He nods, determined, then kisses Tony, letting their hips stutter and rock against each other for a while. Lips press where they can reach. Then quickly, Steve draws back, hoists Tony's sweat shirt off before removing his own henley and tossing it to the bed.

Tony breathes hard, running a hand on Steve's bare chest. Steve pauses, takes a moment to observe Tony’s own—the arc reactor is there, a dim blue light. Like a star in the darkness of their tent, illuminating Tony.

Steve straddles Tony. It’s like the memory of Steve and Tony being in the same spot overlays his vision. Steve dropped his fists to Tony’s face. Then, his shield opened Tony's helmet, revealing his bloody face and the dark bruise under his eye. Finally, the shield slammed to the reactor.

Tony must see something on his face because he huffs, grabs both of Steve’s hands and presses it to his sternum. Steve presses down on the reactor, slowly, measured, his fingers intertwined with Tony’s. 

“You feel that?” Tony flicks Steve’s finger, awaiting an answer. 

Steve nods, mute, broken up, and questions how the fuck he can have this.

“Why are you... letting me…?” Steve chokes up, lost. He focuses on Tony’s eyes, the beat of his heart, anchoring Steve.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tony replies. Steve shakes his head, so Tony tuts, eyes still swollen. “Tell me what you said again, then... You saw what?” 

“I saw the end of the universe…” 

Tony cuts in, whispering, “then there was you.”

“You,” Steve murmurs, hand flexing on Tony’s chest. “You.” 

“You, yeah, _you,_ Steve. So... love me.” There’s something in the way that Tony’s voice rings in the quiet of the camp—sure, filled with conviction, so much trust. 

Maybe the past will always matter. Steve will never be able to run from it. It’s shaped their lives. But, he has now, and the question isn’t whether he can love Tony. Because that script is already written—he does, has, and always will. Yet, it’s a matter of _how_ and that deserves justice.

Steve slips his fingers from where they’re laced with Tony’s, leans forward and kisses him, non-stop, all the parts he can reach, until they’re both hard again. He focuses on Tony’s shallow breaths and the way he tries to stifle a groan on Steve’s neck.

Steve lifts up, kissing Tony’s neck, trailing his lips to his sternum, paying attention to the ridges of the arc reactor before moving to Tony’s nipples. He sucks one, pinches the other, receiving a low whine from Tony.

“Shush, let me take care of you.” Steve moves lower, licking at Tony’s stomach and the patch of hair that trails down. Steve tries to pull the joggers off, sitting up and rustling the tent so much so that Tony bites out a laugh. They work the pants off, then comes Tony’s boxers. Then, he’s naked for Steve’s perusal. 

Steve breathes in, hard. His eyes map Tony’s shoulders—the mechanical arm is placed over his clavicle. And again, he can’t believe Tony’s alive. Breathing. Naked and hard, for Steve. He bites away a groan, gaze running from the cupid’s bow, to his chest, to Tony’s cock and the strong thighs that open for Steve. 

“What do you see?”

“The universe.”

“Fuck off,” Tony half-snorts, half-groans, making grabby hands for Steve and fists the base of his cock. “Stop being cheeky.”

Steve offers him a smile, and fuck, he feels like running out the tent and screaming because it’s true. He’s barely holding on, stubborn threads unraveling as he eyes Tony and presses a hand up his thigh. “I mean it. Why wouldn’t I say what I mean?” 

Tony huffs, shakes his hand, face flushed, but this time, not because of the tears. Steve sits on his knees, hovers over Tony’s thick, leaking cock. He keeps eye contact as he opens his mouth and licks the shaft, then tongues the pre-come on the tip. Then goes back down to suck on Tony’s fingers until he removes it from the base.

“Fuck… Steve. Goddamn, you.” 

Encouraged, Steve swallows him down, rejoicing as Tony pulls at his hair, digging his fingers to Steve’s scalp.

Steve tries to relax, breathing through his nose as he sucks up and down, making Tony’s cock all wet with his spit. Steve moves faster as Tony moans quietly, cursing him. Looking up, he catches Tony’s jaw slacked, eyes shut. Pleased, Steve tries hard to stare at Tony’s shaking shoulders, but he soon gets distracted as Tony begins to lift his hips and fuck Steve’s mouth.

“Fuck… you.” 

Steve doesn’t pull off, he just swallows against the feel of Tony on his tongue, hitting the back of his throat. His eyes are tearing again and he doesn’t really know if it’s due to choking on Tony’s dick or because Steve’s here—in this moment, so full of yearning. 

“This is gonna be fast,” Tony hisses. “Your fucking beard... fuck. It feels so good.” 

Steve pulls off, looks at him with affection. Smiling, he lips the slick from his lips and brings his finger to suck. “That’s okay. We have time, sweetheart.”

Tony groans, dropping his head further in their lump of blankets. Steve starts jacking Tony off with his free hand, so overwhelmed at the way Tony’s tongue works his fingers. 

“You can’t use my own words against me, Steve. Not fair,” he says, licking at Steve’s fingers then letting them go with a pop. 

Steve ignores his aching cock, briefly palming it through the sweat and readjusting before diving back down to swallow Tony’s cock. He bobs up and down, holds Tony’s hips still, then furiously sucks and circles a wet finger— the one covered in Tony’s salvia—to Tony’s rim. He draws spheres, then presses in. His back is getting sore from the position and he’s incredibly, painfully hard. He ignores it all, focusing on Tony’s shallow pants.

Tony groans, legs twitching up then trapping Steve. “Fuck... baby. Steve. Don’t stop.” 

At Tony’s request, Steve quickened his pace, sucking from the base to the root. Tony pulls on his hair, hard, and urgent, then— 

“I’m coming, Steve. I’m coming,” Tony’s hisses are muffled. Steve glances up to see he’s got two flesh knuckles between his teeth, and then, he’s coming, fucking the taste of salt across Steve’s tongue. All the while, Tony repeats Steve’s name, a harsh mutter in the quiet of the night. _SteveSteveSteveSteveSteve. ___

__Steve stays still as Tony thrusts into his mouth, once, then twice, before dropping with a whispered groan. He pulls away, swallowing the come, and wiping at his lip, smug that Tony’s come stains his beard. He catches the come dribbling off his chin with his index finger and offers it to Tony._ _

__“Bastard,” Tony hums, grabbing Steve’s and licking the finger clean until it’s pruning._ _

__Steve drops down again and licks at the softening cock, smiling as Tony tries to push his head away. “Asshole.”_ _

__“Just one more for good measure.” Steve kisses the tip, then nips at the space between Tony’s crotch and his thigh._ _

__Tony begins to settle, breath evening out, satisfied. Tony smiles, eyes all warm and crinkled. Then, he laughs, open, affectionate like they weren’t just crying moments ago._ _

__His breath hitches, heart in his throat. Tony grabs Steve’s front pockets, hauling him up so Steve hovers above him. Steve leans forward, giving Tony a filthy kiss. It’s wet, opened mouthed, and he moans as Tony licks behind his teeth._ _

__He begins rocking against Tony’s body, briefly pulling away to shimmy his sweats to his thighs. That’s the best he could do because pulling him away from Tony would take an army. Steve pulls on his cock, watching with equal parts of wonder and disbelief as Tony opens his arms._ _

__Steve pauses for a moment, and bites his lips. “You. There’s you.”_ _

__“Here I am,” Tony says, wiggling both hands so Steve can fit on the curve of his neck and press their bodies together._ _

__Tony undulates his hips, reaches down to grab Steve’s dick. He smiles, private and dirty, and it’s so damned sexy, Steve mouths at his neck and sucks. “Tony.”_ _

__“That’s right, baby,” Tony slurs, digging his mechanical arm on the wedge between Steve’s neck and back, encouraging Steve to fuck his hand._ _

__“Come between my legs, Steve. Come on me,” Tony says, so Steve shifts slightly on his knees, moving right above Tony’s. They pant right on each other’s faces, wide-eyed, maybe even surprised under all the want._ _

__“Fuck, Tony,” Steve hisses as Tony twists his hand on the tip. He feels like crying again, weeping against Tony’s throat. “Feels so good. God, Tony.”_ _

__“Keep fucking my hand, Steve.”_ _

__“More, fuck…” Steve tries to whisper, but soon gives up; instead he just kisses Tony’s collarbones, then the light of the arc reactor before moving to the scar tissues on his shoulder to lick at the edges of the prosthetic._ _

__Steve could have this. It belongs to him. Each stroke drives him mad, crazy with want, and all the longing and yearning comes to an end. Here’s here—alive, in this moment with Tony. He looks at Tony’s eyes—still swollen and hazy. There’s green in those eyes._ _

__“I’m close… I’ll come. Tony.”_ _

__Then, Tony kisses him, deep and speeds up his fingers, twisting at the tip again and again._ _

__Steve stills, smothers the sob in his chest by sucking at Tony’s mouth. He comes, arching back,  
but it’s like he bursts with all the want. How can a human being contain so much love for another person? Steve will never understand. Maybe he doesn’t have to—it’s all about how you love that person anyway._ _

__Tony’s relentless, taking Steve’s come from between them to the palms of his hands and stroking him again—up, down, up, down, in slow, lazy succession._ _

__Steve drops down, slurring whatever comes to mind—he doesn’t know, nor can he can. It’s all about Tony—how goddamn happy and overwhelmed he is with all the feelings that simmer inside him._ _

__Eventually, Tony lets his dick go and Steve sits up to kiss his lips before grabbing his henley to clean the come off Tony’s belly._ _

__“No,” Tony grabs his wrists, whining._ _

__“Hmm?” Steve hums, “I’ll just wipe it.”_ _

__“No, leave it, I like the feel of your come drying on me.”_ _

__Steve groans, dropping his head. He likes that image—Tony marked by Steve’s come._ _

__“Just come here, you big lump.”_ _

__Steve settles on the floor, fuck the bed, it’d be too noisy to try to get in now and he didn’t want Peter’s smug face teasing him all day tomorrow. Tony gets under the blankets, then turns to hold Steve._ _

__“Just hold me, baby,” Tony whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses Steve’s chest._ _

__Selfishly, Steve tilts Tony’s head, drops two kisses on both his closed eyes, on his forehead, on his nose, then, finally, a soft promise to his lips._ _

__“Goodnight, you.”_ _

__“You,” Tony replies._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wouldn't be possible with blue, nathan, tony, and poppy. They all worked this chapter into shape and held my hand through the entire process. 
> 
> I'm feeling so raw that this is ending next Tuesday. I finished Chapter 8 over the weekend and just had to sit for a hot minute and stare at my screen. The whole process of writing this fic was pretty much just: 🤮🤢🔪
> 
> But it's been amazing. Thank you so much to those of you that have been following along, I appreciate reading your thoughts/comments every week. Also, those have been with me since the beginning might notice I kept changing the summary. I'm infinitely frustrated I don't have the brain cells to summarize this fic hahaha.
> 
> In the scene where they look up at the sky and Tony says, "it's how we love...I guess," paraphrases a quote from Toni Morrison's book, The Bluest Eye, which goes: "There is really nothing more to say—except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how."'


	8. Chapter 8

Tony’s tracing patterns on Steve’s chest when he wakes up. Eyes still closed, Steve smiles, mumbling a good morning and pulling Tony on top of him. 

They’re both hard. Steve rocks his hip as Tony huffs and kisses him until his eyes open.

“Good morning, you,” Tony says, hair mussed and crust in his eyes.

“You.” Steve wraps an arm on Tony’s waist. They kiss again, slow, lazy, not a care in the world that they haven’t brushed their teeth and that Steve’s come is dried up on Tony’s belly. They’re roughing it out in nature anyway, both naked.

“Can it be like this every morning?” Steve presses a kiss on Tony’s nose.

“A version of it, maybe.” Tony pulls away and settles on the bed. “I’d rather not make a habit of sleeping on the floor. Take me to a bed next time, Rogers.” Tony stretches, licks his lips as he sees Steve fisting his cock. “God, Steve. We can’t right now, stop that.” 

“Stop what?” He’s never been one for self-control; for fuck’s sake, he had made a regular habit of jumping off helicopters. 

“I'll punish you when we get home.”

“But you’ll make it good, won’t you?” Steve twists at the head, then drops his hand with a huff. He barks a laugh at Tony’s pointed glare. “You’re blushing, Tony. Alright, let’s get the day started, sweetheart.” 

“God, I’m gonna have to stand in line for the communal showers because there’s no fucking way I’m going to walk around Yosemite and get sweaty with this.” Tony gestures to the streaks of dried come on his belly. 

Steve bites his lips, feeling bold. He crawls to where Tony sits on the bed, between his legs, and licks it, then kisses Tony on the lips. “There, now you don’t have to.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, goddamn you, Steve.” He pulls at Steve’s hair, patting it and tugging on the long strands at the top. “No, I’m still gonna shower. Gotta be presentable for the kids and keep up appearances.” 

“You look good in anything,” Steve reasons, dropping his head to Tony’s chest. 

“I look better in nothing.” 

Steve pulls away, and examines Tony’s naked body. He didn’t get the chance to memorize all the dips and lines of Tony, not during the night with their need to be quiet; there’d be time for that later. What happened last night couldn’t just be a one-off. Next time, he wants to hear Tony moan loud; he wants to see Tony, naked, under the daylight.

“We’ll have to talk, won’t we?”

“Steve, what is it with you and needing to talk _all the time?_ Every time there’s a new development, you need an analysis and mission report of it.” Tony juts out his jaw for a kiss.

“I just want to make sure everything’s alright.”

Tony cups his face in the mechanical arm. “Everything’s alright, my dear. We’ll talk. Later.” Tony puts both his thumbs under Steve’s eyes and wipes at them. “We have time now, Steve.”

“Alright. Are the kids still heading to Pepper’s tomorrow morning?”

Tony nods, settling his chin over Steve’s head. “I’ll drop them off in the morning. I feel sort of bad they’ll have to go so soon after we’ve just finished our trip. But an agreement is an agreement and we have to stick to the schedule. Plus, Peter’s probably eager to get back to his lab at SI.”

If Tony’s were as selfish as Steve, he’d have Peter and Morgan stay. But Tony’s a better man than him, so he sticks to his agreement with Pepper even though Steve suspects it must hurt to be away from Morgan half her life. Steve doesn’t know. Maybe he should be vindicated for Pepper, too, but he loves watching Tony and Morgan walk around the beach and he just wants her to stay longer. Every Monday afternoon feels like a goodbye Steve will never get used to, and he’s sure it must be worse for Tony. 

“I’ll miss them.” Steve finds it easy to admit this to Tony. He’s been lonely and alone for so long, and here’s his family leaving him, even just for a few days, he can’t stop worrying. 

His family— Tony said so.

“We’ll see them on Friday,” Tony hums, dropping his arms to Steve’s shoulders, massaging Steve’s neck. 

They stay like that for a while, naked and half-hard, ignoring the sound of the camp outside rising; they’ll have to get up soon, fetch the kids if they’re not already awake, have showers, and pack their tents, then head to the Valley for a few hours. 

But Steve’s content, kissing Tony’s chest, then his shoulders, then his lips. 

It’s all fine.

* * *

Steve can’t stop staring at Tony. He’s always looked at Tony, but today finally feels like he’s allowed to do it and not look stupid. Tony glances back at him with an eye roll or smile every time. 

But Steve doesn’t care, he grasps Tony’s hand as they walk through the Valley.

Peter coos at them and takes about a hundred photographs of Tony and Steve walking hand in hand. Tony throws up the peace sign, sticks his tongue out, or poses like Iron Man with the prosthetic hand raised. 

Morgan just shrugs and says, “Does this mean that we don’t have to walk back to the other house now?” 

Steve looks at Tony, helpless, not really knowing how to respond to the innocent question. He does have two spare bedrooms in his lake house. Morgan already uses one. He didn’t paint it lavender for her—no, Steve painted the room that shade because it looked nice. Something a child might like and if she always fell asleep in that room in the nights all three of them spent together, and that’s nothing but a coincidence, right? 

“We’re still figuring it out, okay, Maguna?” Tony ruffles her hair. 

The Valley is busy on a regular weekend, but this particular Sunday is packed with people - tour buses arrive every few minutes depositing dozens of families. It makes Steve a little anxious because there’s so many people, and he has to watch for Tony, Morgan, and Peter. He can’t help but look for exits, spaces where villains might hide out. 

The father and son duo could take care of themselves, no doubt, but Morgan’s another issue. It hits him that maybe he’ll always worry. He doesn’t have the suit and cowl anymore, and Tony might want to smack him all over for the shield on his back. But Steve can’t help it, it’s like second nature to look for danger, given his history in the army, then as Captain America.

He turns to Tony, squeezes his hand, and straightens as if on a mission. They walk the Valley for a few more minutes, catching Half-Dome from a distance. Peter and Morgan talk about the lakes and other parts of the part, so Steve tries to focus on that. He keeps track of their heads: one, two, three. 

Tony’s step falters, then he turns to Steve. “I think we should go home. Have an early dinner on the way. I’m a little tired; I’m old and all. We can stop by Iz’s before we head to the property? What do you say, Pete? Maguna?”

“Ugh, we always eat at Iz’s, dad. Can’t we have Thai or Chinese?” Morgan whines.

“I vote for burgers,” Peter retorts, not even bothering to look up from his camera. 

“I’m good with that.”

“We always eat that too!” 

“Fine... how about…”

The conversation turns into a debate about food choices as Tony leads them out of the park and into the lot. The kids hop into the car as Steve and Tony load up the car, organizing the coolers, backcountry kitchen set, and the tents until they are on the truck’s bed. 

Steve smiles at him, thankful. Before, it might have disgruntled Steve that Tony knew him so well. Tony can read his body with a look and know what to do. He thinks it’s madness that someone can know another human being so well. 

_Maybe we don’t have to live with secrets._

“Stop that.” Tony frowns, annoyed. 

“What?” 

“ _That._ That thing you do with your face when you look at me. Where you look at me, smile, then look away. You look down or away, then look at me _again_. Only this time you’re looking at me and you’re still smiling. You smile like you have a secret, and it’s unnerving me.”

“I like looking at you. That’s no secret. Can’t help what my face does.” 

Presumably, Steve does the face again because Tony throws up his hands. “You’re hopeless. And too cute for words. Dammit, Rogers.”

Steve brings Tony’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss. “You.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, pulling his hand away only to wrap his arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him for a kiss. “You.”

The drive home to Tahoe is subdued. Morgan and Peter are quiet, not even engaging in a play-by-play about the trip. From the rearview mirror, he catches Peter texting or scrolling through his phone while Morgan’s fallen asleep—her hair sticking to her face. She has her mouth open, too. 

“She looks so much like you,” Steve says, adjusting the rear view mirror before focusing back on the road. 

Tony hums, glancing at Morgan, then turns back to rest a hand on Steve’s thigh, like it’s natural. Like he’s done it many times before.

They’re quiet for the rest of the ride, left to their musings.

Every time he switches lanes, he glances at the mirror, catching Morgan’s messy hair. Tony gambled on this life—the chance to see his daughter grow—because Steve knocked on his door and asked for help. Yeah, to save the universe for all these living bastards, but then, Tony risked his own.

It’s a hard decision to say yes—it must be easier to turn Steve and Nat away—live life the way it deserved, without second thoughts about a future that could exist. Tony did all that and yet.

Yet, here’s Tony Stark sitting beside Steve Rogers, riding in a beat-up, second-hand truck, choosing this life—choosing to build a life with a man he probably should run away from.

Yet, here he is—rubbing circles on Steve’s thigh when he could be anywhere else. 

Another country, another lifetime.

But, he’s chosen Steve.

That knowledge makes him want to scream.

* * *

They get food from the cantina to-go because Morgan refused to get out of the car, too tired and sleepy. Steve and Tony are both helpless to her whims. 

Dinner at Steve’s is quiet, the kids too tired as if the last three days in Yosemite have finally caught up to them now that they’re home. 

Peter cat naps on the couch, wakes up every ten minutes to go on his phone, then is dead asleep again. Tony tells him to just go to bed, but he pouts and says, “I just miss MJ.”

“Then invite them over,” Tony replies. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” Tony doesn’t even look up from his tablet. He’s sitting on Steve’s favorite spot, the window sill, the afternoon light filtering into the house. Tony chews on his bottom lip, likely, reading an email for the second time or trying to figure out an equation. 

Peter turns to Steve. “Is that fine?” 

“Why are you asking me?” 

Peter gives him an unamused look, something so petulant and teenager-like. 

The glare that comes makes Steve laugh. “If Tony says it’s fine, then it sounds good to me.”

“If Tony says it’s fine, ha,” Peter mocks, making his voice high. “Okay, I’ll remember that next time I want something.”

“Steve’s easy, just say I gave you the go-ahead, kid, then Steve will bend over backwards to make it happen.”

“Is that right?” Steve calls out as he shuts off the faucet.

He hands off the last dish for Morgan to dry because the two other residents in the house couldn’t be bothered to help. She places it in the cabinets and they head to sit by the farm table, going over their pressed flowers collection.

“I’m not wrong, am I?” Tony drops his tablet, puts his knees to the chest.

“You’re not wrong.” 

“That’s what I like to hear, my man.”

Later, when Morgan gets bored of handwriting the names and facts from her flower collection, she climbs Steve’s lap, falling asleep in his arms.

Tony looks over with a smile and it seems like approval, a promise. 

Eventually, Tony wraps up his project and rouses Peter to go back to the other house. Steve can’t think it’s anything but the ‘other house,’ a temporary space that parts him from them. 

He’ll sleep alone tonight, yeah, but they’re right across the bridge. Maybe someday, they’ll all wake up in the morning, here, in this very house. The house Steve built with his two bare hands.

It’s formative, really, that he came to this ramshackle of a safe house, barely holding onto its nails, and two years later, he lives in a house with all these potted plants on shelves he built, where Tony sits by the window he designed, in a living room where they picked out furniture together. 

Maybe they don’t need speeches and declarations, maybe one day, someone just moves in and calls your little old house home and you’re not alone anymore. 

Yeah, Steve thinks, it’s a bit like that.

Steve gets up, waking Morgan and ushering her outside with Tony and Peter. She gives Steve a sloppy kiss on the cheek, whispering, “goodnight.”

Peter waves, muttering something about uploading the photos from his camera tonight and sending them to Rhodey and MJ. Steve doesn’t know, but he suspects that his phone is going to be blowing up tomorrow morning with messages from Bucky and Sam. 

Steve and Tony standing in front of each other, like two school kids. Peter and Morgan watch them from just a distance, two figures standing on the bridge.

“Well, see you tomorrow?” Tony has his hands in his pockets, a picture of arrogance and uncertainty. “After I drop off the kids.”

He lives in contradictions. 

“I’ll be here,” Steve replies. 

Tony nods, then keeps nodding and nodding, as if waiting for—oh, right.

He pulls Tony toward him, pecking him on the lips before Tony presses to his chest and wraps both arms around Steve. They kiss softly, no rush and no care that the children were just a few feet away laughing at them. 

Steve hears Morgan say, “Peter, I guess they’re married now.”

“Well, obviously. I mean, really, finally.” 

And Peter’s deadpan response makes him laugh so hard that he has to pull away from Tony.

Tony laughs, leans his forehead against Steve’s. “God, Steve, after last night, I didn’t think you’d have to be so shy.” 

“I’m not shy.”

“Yeah, you are.” Tony taps his chest, once, twice. 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “And you know me so well, don’t you?”

“I do.” Tony smacks a loud kiss on his cheek, then pulls away, and heads to the bridge. 

“See you tomorrow,” Steve yells out when all three of them reach Tony’s side of the property.

Tony cups his hands over his mouth. “Tomorrow, honey.”

Steve returns inside, folding the blanket Peter left on the couch. He catches sight of Morgan’s leather-bound book beside his own, and sighs. 

Tomorrow is another day. They’ll be back soon.

He heads to the bathroom, strips, and gets into the shower. 

The water is too warm, but that’s just how Steve likes it. It’s all functional: he washes his hair, squirts some conditioner to his beard, and takes a washcloth to his body. 

Then, he bites his lip and takes his cock in his hand. It’s been half-hard since Tony kissed him goodbye earlier, but now, Steve looks down at it, all red and angry, the veins on the left side pronounced. He starts slow, pumping twice, three times, then exhales. He drops his head to the tiles, moaning, imagining Tony’s fingers twisting at the head, remembering how Tony kissed him the night before. 

Steve comes with a groan, for once, not feeling guilty about imagining Tony. He’s taken his cock in hand so many times these past couple of months and tried to be objective about touching himself, focusing on the feeling rather than thoughts. Yet, his mind always seems to disagree, drifting to thoughts of Tony. But now, after last night, Steve thinks that it’s okay? Tony wants him too, kissed him and told Steve, “love me.”

He rinses off again, then collapses to bed naked and falls asleep. 

* * *

The next morning, Steve takes his coffee outside, sitting on the rocking hair. Tony’s Range Rover is already gone, leaving just the Audi and the Camaro on the lot. Steve didn’t want to see them leave, he didn’t understand why, really, knowing the kids would be back in a few days, but he couldn’t help but feel like they were just in his life for a moment. Maybe he’ll always feel that way.

Steve feeds Chopin and Brooklyn. Waters his plants. Does a load of laundry, puts fresh bed sheets on the mattress, and takes out some chicken to defrost. He’s alone, but Tony will be home soon, and maybe they’ll have lunch together, and maybe talk? Maybe then Steve could stutter something about their trip and how they’ve been intimate? And how he hopes for more? Maybe Tony’s eyes will crinkle again, he’ll kiss Steve, and say, “simple and easy.” 

Everything will be fine. 

He spends the rest of the morning in the woodshop, cutting up cedar for the potting bench. He really has too many plants in the house, and Tony complains about the bots getting on the pots in his workshop. Steve begins to work—cutting out squares, marking the notches, and consulting his how-to guide. 

Steve gets lost in the routine, cut here, cut there. 

He startles from his reverie when there’s a smack and scream outside. 

He drops his saw with a clatter and runs out, blood rushing to his head like he’s back in a battle. 

“Tony!” He stops short on the docks, inspecting the house. The Range Rover is back, but it’s empty. The lake’s waters ripple. “Tony!”

The waters part, then there’s a wet Tony surfacing with a deep inhale and swimming towards the dock.

“What the fuck? You scared me.” Steve runs to the edge of the docks and squats down. “What’s wrong with you?”

He itches to push the hair from Tony’s face away, but he’s still too riled up from the slam. It sounded like a body falling off the sky.

“I just jumped in. It’s better to just get in quick so your body can adjust to the temperature.” Tony grins and shrugs, putting both arms on the wood, settling his head down, and looking up at Steve. “Come for a swim?”

“You really scared me. I thought… something happened.”

Tony tilts his head, eyelashes wet. “Do you always expect the worst?” 

“No.” Steve sits down, cross-legged, arms on his chest. He tries to calm down. Breathes in, staring at Tony. 

“You do. You really have to unlearn that, Steve.” 

Water drips from Tony’s hair to his face as he shakes off then dips down again. 

“Just… I thought something happened, especially when you yelled.” He rubs a hand over his head, heartbeat finally calming.

“It was cold,” Tony prods at Steve’s ankles. “Sorry I scared you.”

Steve keeps an eye on him, cataloguing droplets of water on his shoulder. “It’s alright.”

“We’re safe here, Steve. You don’t always have to look behind your back.” Tony grasps his ankles now, hands wet, soaking Steve’s jeans and sneakers. “Come on. Join me.”

Steve twists his lips, still feeling out of his axis. “I have a feeling you’ll scare me for the rest of our lives.”

Tony pretends to consider this, looking up at the sky. “Yeah, probably.”

“I guess there’s my doom.”

“Here I am.” Tony pulls on his legs until Steve’s nodding and getting up to pull his shirt over his head. 

He flexes a bit, shy and reckless as Tony admires him. The sun’s already brutal on his back, shining bright above. There’s no wind or breeze to alleviate them from the heat. 

“There you are.” Steve bends, unties shoelaces, pulls off his boots. His socks and jeans go next. 

All the while, Tony watches him, feet kicking the water and staining the docks a darker shade of brown.

He stands back, hands on his hips, letting himself be observed by Tony. 

“Your boxers, too.” Tony grins, all wide with teeth. 

“Tony,” Steve warns, looking at the property.

He’s swam in the lake naked before, there weren't any residents for miles out, so his excuses were well short. 

“Come on. Make me a happy man. You said you would.” He raises an eyebrow, self-satisfied, looking both arrogant and adorable with wet hair sticking to his forehead. There’s no other word for it; Tony looks lovely in the water, the blue of the lake a sharp contrast to the red of his prosthetic. 

He lowers his boxers to his thighs, then pulls at them until they pool at his ankles. He steps away, walks to the edge and sees Tony. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed, looking at Steve like he was something to be worshipped.

Tony’s wrong. 

He’s the one that Steve prays to, prays for.

“I will,” Steve says, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Tony swims away, just a yard or so into the water. 

Steve leans forward, watching the sunshine on the waters. The lake is supposed to be still, but the sun’s reflection makes it seem like it’s constantly moving. 

Away, away it rocks.

He could dip his toes, but like Tony said, it’s better to just jump in. A splash of cold, like diving back in ice, then just the quiet feeling of being underwater, the world muffled as he’s enveloped in the sharp glacial bite.

Steve looks for Tony; half his body is submerged in the water. His right shoulder— a fiery red— peeks out. Steve focuses on that, takes a deep breath holding onto it until his lungs burn, then jumps.

For half a second when he enters the water, everything is cold and dark, then he kicks up, his hair heavy with the wetness. His ears ring. He spins twice, just kicking, getting his arms in control.

Then, there. 

At a distance is Tony. Hair flat and mused as he throws his arms back in a stroke, away from Steve and towards his side of the property, laughing. 

The heat on his scalp makes him dip down into the water before swimming towards Tony in the middle of the lake. He parts the ripples with his fingers, treading quickly as Tony circles and swims away. 

They keep at their chase for a little while longer, then, later, they’re quietly floating on their backs. Eyes closed, faces turned towards the sky. Soon enough, Tony paddles over and floats beside him. “You’re smiling.” He’s got a smile on his face too. “Happy?”

“Yeah.” Steve pulls him close, an arm going to Tony’s shoulder as they kick up their feet.

Tony tilts his head in an invitation, so Steve presses a kiss, slow, grabbing Tony’s waist to steady them.

The kiss turns heated when Tony opens his mouth and Steve slips his tongue in. They grab at each other, rocking back and forth in the water until he grabs Tony’s legs and wraps them around his waist, palm going to Tony’s bare ass. 

They go at it for a while, easy, simple. Just two bodies under the sun, living in this world without a care.

He lets go.

Steve gives in to the kiss. The feeling of Tony in his arms.

Then inch by inch, they pull away, only to fit back together, lips mashing as if they’re trying to catch up on lost time. 

Maybe they are.

Maybe this was years in the making, but time for Steve is all fucked—born in another century, living in a new one; the so-called Man Out of Time, yet here he is, in Tony’s arms, and he feels like time doesn’t really matter anymore. He belongs to someone, somewhere. He has a home to return to, and maybe that’s all life is about. 

Tony starts rocking his cock on Steve’s stomach, and he’s glad he has the serum to allow him to keep them floating. Steve begins to mouth at Tony’s bare neck, licking the saltwater dripping from his collarbones. Tony looks down at him, a laugh on his face.

“What’s funny?” Steve nips at his throat.

Tony shakes his head, eyes twinkling; Steve can’t tell if he’s crying again. If Tony’s crying, then soon, Steve knows he’ll follow. Tony’s eyes are tinged in something like sadness, even if his lips are curved in a smile. 

“Just…” he sighs, looks at the sky, it’s overlaid with clouds. He raises a hand, pressing the tips of the mechanical fingers to Steve’s beard. “You scare me too.”

Steve stares at Tony, kisses the fingers when they touch his lips. “But we can’t live being scared.”

Tony scratches his beard, then settles the hand against the back of Steve’s neck. He quirks his lips, looking resigned. “No, we can’t.” 

“So, let’s not,” Steve pulls Tony down for another kiss, the statement sounding like a question.

Tony bites at his lips— like he’s angry and the goal is to make Steve bleed. Steve pulls back at first, shifting away, only Tony digs his fingers into Steve’s scalp as a warning. There’s no choice but to concede, so Steve does, and tries not to think. They’re still learning to be gentle, rubbing at each other’s sore spots instead of kicking it until it turns into a bruise. But this is different—this is a better way to pick at their scabs.

Steve bites back, hoisting Tony up to his stomach and swimming back to the docks. He sets Tony on the dock’s rim, naked under the daylight. He presses a palm to the dock, bends his knees, and opens his legs for Steve. 

Groaning, Steve’s frozen at the sight of Tony’s hard dick. It stands straight, arching slightly to the left. The hair on his midriff has splashes of gray, but it leads to a patch of dark pubic hair framing his cock. 

He couldn’t see the length of Tony’s body in the darkness of the camp, not with only the faint light of the arc reactor. But now, under the light, Tony lies naked and hard for him. 

Tony smirks, shifts down to tangle his legs on the ledge, trapping Steve’s body, still half-submerged underwater. He can’t hear anything other than the sound of his panting breath. 

The scars on Tony’s chest are much more pronounced—yeah, Steve’s seen the sawtooth lines during their time in the Tower, but the scarring on Tony’s body is miniscule compared to what it is now. After missions, when they were with SHIELD, Tony would strip and hop in the facilitating showers, unabashed in his nakedness. Steve, every time he caught a flash of Tony’s skin, no matter if it was just his calves or the strip of skin on his lower back, always turned away, flustered. 

Tony’s flesh arm is still strong, pronounced with definition as he shifts up, looking at Steve. The prosthetic gleams, reflecting under the sun, making Steve’s eyes sore. Around it is the blistered scar tissue of his shoulder from the snap. 

This man did that—god fuck, he stares at the face of death with a smile then he tells Steve he’s also scared. How does that happen? Steve can’t comprehend it, but then again, if given the choice, he’d jump off the cliffs of Vormir if it meant acquiring the soulstone. But Tony? The thought of losing him is almost like madness. Yet, knowing that Steve _could_ have this—that Tony is letting him, giving him the rope, making him promise to ask for help. It makes his head spin, not just with want, but the idea that love could be so selfish and consuming.

Yet here he is.

He’s seen parts of Tony, so many times over—so many expressions this man has graced him with—rage, disappointment, and somehow, love. 

Steve bites his lips, stares at Tony as he bends down to kiss the patch of hair right above his knees, then his inner thigh. He nips and licks at the water until he reaches Tony’s balls. He swipes a lick there before moving to the shaft. 

Tony drops his head on deck, moaning as Steve begins to suck the head. He tries to move up, a hand on the ledge to leave the water, only, Tony is adamant in fucking his mouth. Steve stays still for a moment, letting Tony thrust up to him like the night at camp. The taste of precome hits his mouth and he wishes badly to swallow Tony’s come again. 

“Steve,” Tony grabs, kicks his feet, splashing water on Steve’s back. “Steve, wait.” 

Steve hums, working harder. His attempts to float on the water has his body moving back and forth, so much so that Tony’s cock hits the back of his throat. His eyes sting, but he treasures the feeling, breathing through his nose. 

“Hold on, I don’t wanna come yet.” Tony pulls his hair until Steve resurfaces. “Come here, up here.”

Finally, Steve leaves the water, heaving as he pushes up and crawls over Tony’s body. He hovers, their dicks touching. Tony takes both into his mechanical arms and jacks them. Steve pants, Tony’s stares at him, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out. Steve kisses him, getting lost in the feeling until Tony removes his hands and urges Steve up.

“Fuck my mouth.” 

Steve drops his hand, kisses Tony’s cheeks, his eyes, the space between his eyebrows, his lips, nodding quickly, he shifts up until his dick is above Tony’s face. 

“Turn around, face the lake and fuck my throat.” 

Steve does as he’s told, presses forward, both arms shooting to Tony’s side. He looks down, watches Tony guide Steve’s cock into his mouth. For a moment, Tony keeps his lips pressed, just teasing the head of Steve’s cock. Tony begins sucking, enthusiastically, and kneads Steve’s bare ass.

“Fuck, Tony.” Steve thrust forward, the heat of Tony’s mouth making him lose self-control. His legs begin to shake; he bites his lip, trying to focus on staying still as Tony works a hand to cup his balls then finally starts jacking the base of his dick. Tony continues to suck, mouthing at the head, twisting his tongue on the slit. Then, he pats Steve’s thighs, encouraging him to begin rocking. 

He looks down, sees Tony’s eyes close, lips open and full of dick. He thrusts in and out, his balls dragging over Tony’s nose. Steve’s so hard and close to coming already. 

He looks at the lake. The sky. It’s an endless blue. Yet, it’s Tony who feels infinite.

All Steve knows is he needs to get off and touch Tony, kiss his lips, use his own mouth to fuck Tony. He wants to use his tongue and fingers to open him up, and then, maybe, if Steve’s good, then Tony will turn around and offer his ass to Steve.

He groans, loud, not giving a fuck. They’re alone in the property and he doesn’t have to be quiet like in the campsite. Steve just starts talking, saying a litany of curses and Tony’s name, encouraging him to keep going. He opens his eyes, not realizing they were closed, then, he looks at Tony. The top of his head is a mess of curls, half-dried, half-wet. Eyelashes long.

“Fuck, Tony. You. You. I’m coming.” 

He shoots forward, letting his hips drop down as Tony raises his head, opening up his throat for Steve to thrust into. And he fucks into that warm mouth, marking it with his come. He stays still for a moment, letting Tony just lick him clean. 

Steve shifts, moving to his side beside Tony, watching as he licks the come dripping from his goatee. It’s hot as fuck and Steve’s dick twitches again. 

He pulls Tony on top of him, kissing his come from the inside of Tony’s mouth, his moustache, then with all his might, sits up. “Wrap your legs around me.” 

“You’re like a dream,” Tony kisses Steve’s cheek as he plants his legs and lifts up, carrying Tony on his front. “God, swimming in the lake, fucking my mouth outdoors, your thighs still wet and dripping on my chest. A dream, I swear, Steve. And now you’re carrying me up like a goddamn... movie protagonist.” Tony rubs at Steve’s beard, fingers dancing around his jaw. “Naked, too.” 

“I’ll take care of you.” Steve huffs, smacks Tony’s ass just because he can. He sidesteps their clothes, then walks to the house like on a mission. Tony’s dick presses insistently on the jut of his hips and it makes his mouth water. He’s a selfish bastard and he wants more.

Tony drops all of his weight on Steve and kisses his shoulder. The walk to the house is short, but he stops at the entrance when he sees a blue gift bag by the floor. 

“Oh, that.” Tony glances then hides his face on Steve’s neck. “From me, for you.”

Tony kicks his back lightly and hops off, leaning against the door with his half-hard cock proudly on display. 

Steve picks the bag up, eyeing Tony in question. “What is it?”

“Open it.” Tony twists the knob and heads inside, dripping water into the wooden floors. Steve has half the mind to reprimand him, but Tony looks too good, naked in their living room with water droplets on the small of his back.

There is something about seeing him barefoot at home, calves flexing, ass out. 

Inside, Steve goes to the farm table and drops on the bench. Tony’s in the open living room, grabbing the throw blanket. He looks so silly, cock out with a blanket resting on his shoulders like a cape.

He pads to Steve, head tilted, the way he usually was when he gave the team new updates. Tony would stand on the balls of his feet observing their reactions. 

Steve smiles and removes the tissue from the bag. He grabs a handle, pulls on it, letting the paper bag drop to the floor.

The smile vanishes. He swallows, hands carefully lifting a cobalt blue glass with an intricate design of the sun and moon. 

He stares at Tony, speechless. 

“We’re on a migration route here in Tahoe. They'll be here, just for a moment, but we'll have them here,” Tony shrugs, hands flapping and pointing out the window as he explains, “we can add the water and nectar later, then put it up by the oak tree outside. Or, if you want them to visit you in the verdana as you sketch, we can post it there with the rest of the hanging plants. The birds might mess with the begonias though.” 

He continues to ramble about birds and their routes as if Steve’s entire body isn’t frozen, as if his heart just didn’t drop to the belly. To the floor. Because Tony just ripped it out. 

Then mended it again. Again and again, he leaves Steve dumbfounded.

He fixes things, Steve’s mechanic—that’s what he does.

“Tony,” Steve tries to get his throat to work. “This… is.” 

Steve can’t even fucking talk, he swallows the lump in his throat, moving his jaw at the last resort.

“It’s just a hummingbird feeder.” Tony clutches at the ends of the blanket, rearranges it on his arms. 

“No, it’s not,” Steve replies, clutching it to his chest. “It’s a gift. From you. And it’s so much more than what it actually is, isn’t it, Tony?” His hands shake and he breathes in deeply, once, twice, before setting the feeder to the table. 

He tries to stand, but his feet fail him.

He’s not crying because of a fucking birdfeeder. 

“You got it for me before, didn’t you?” 

Tony looks down at him, nodding. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t see it. I went to DC after. In Vormir, when I saw Nat… I didn’t tell you before.” He swallows, wincing at the sound of his voice. “In Vormir. There was a tree and a red hummingbird feeder. I don't fucking understand magic, Tony. But I wake up in another century, there's gods and aliens, and I'm in another goddamn dimension seeing my dead friend. She tells me to get a life. Tells me that I'm home, back at the Tower." He scoffs, a short laugh, then Tony's hands are in his hair, on his shoulders pulling him up and onto the couch.

“She said it was red, Tony. You put it up on the branch the next day.” 

“I waited, Steve,” Tony swallows, expression stormy and resigned.

Steve sighs. “I know. And I left.”

“I mean, you had a mission. You had to go to DC and do what you had to do. There’s no blame there.”

“But I never saw it. Just in Vormir.”

“We’ve got another one here, baby.” Tony points at the bird feeder on the table. It gleams under the sun seeping through the double doors. “You can look at this one all you like.”

Steve gulps. “Still.”

Tony crosses his arms, looking so silly with the cowlick on the left side of his hair. “Yeah. Still.”

“Did you know that I had to leave?”

“Yeah. JARVIS told me.” Tony nods, looks away, glances at Steve, the hummingbird feeder, before fixing Steve with a determined twist on his lips. “But I climbed up the roof, not even in my suit, ha. I put it up there anyway.”

“I’m sorry I never saw it. I wish I did.” Steve leans his arms on his knees, chin to hand. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“It just wasn’t time. I guess.” 

“Yeah,” Steve replies, resigned.

Tony holds his gaze, arms falling to his side so that the blanket slips. Then once again, he’s standing naked in the living room, reminding Steve of what they’d just done outside moments ago. 

It’s always whiplash with Tony— one moment they’re screaming at the comms, then Tony falls out of the sky, and Steve’s heart is in his throat. There’s a moment where things fall into place, like two puzzles fitting so well together there’s no line break. They understand each other with one glance, a raised eyebrow, a quirked lip. 

But then, the puzzle breaks, or it’s pulled apart by both their hands or some other, and they’re two pieces once again. 

“But...” Tony starts, taking a step towards him.

It’s always Tony walking to Steve. When all Steve’s done is turn away, chase another dream, too embedded in the machinations of other men. Nat once told him a line from a philosopher. She loved them. Steve thought her well-rehearsed quotations were pretentious, annoying. It reminded him of when Tony would rattle facts at lightning speed. Beside them, Steve felt average, and he was Captain fucking America. 

She’d say, verbatim, watching Steve with pressed lips. ‘If you're trapped in the dream of another, you're fucked.’ 

Steve’s been loyal to nothing but the dream of another, so much so that he couldn’t tell the difference between his own vision of life. It didn’t belong to him, not anymore not really. 

Yet, here’s Tony. _Here I am,_ Steve recalls him saying, simple, and with ease, like loving Steve is easy. Like it didn’t take the end of the world to get to this moment. 

“You’re my dream. And I’ll wait this time.”

Tony swallows, stops in front of Steve and fits himself between Steve’s legs. He rests his hand on Steve’s shoulders, then uses the other to tilt Steve’s chin up. “I... I want to say. I waited for you. I knew you weren’t coming that day. I still put it up and waited.”

“Tony.” He wonders how one syllable can sound both broken and relieved. 

Tony shakes his hand, lips twisting. “God fuck. We have so much shit to go through. I’m so tired. Sometimes I wonder how many times we have to go through this. I guess we’ve really done a number on ourselves, Steve.”

“We have time.” 

Tony barks a rough laugh; his eyes are red-rimmed again.

Steve puts a hand to his waist, follows the valley of his pecs, past his sternum, to his lips. 

“We do, don’t we?” Then, he sighs, eyebrows furrowing. He plays with the damp hair on Steve’s neck, scratching at space behind his ear. “I waited, Steve. I sat at the ledge that day hoping you’d come back. Just to see that I gave you what you wanted.” Tony swallows, eyes glazed. 

“I waited in Siberia. I waited for you to call because a letter wasn’t enough. Not for me. I _waited,_ do you understand that, Steve? It was forever for me. But I couldn’t wait for forever, especially not when I was angry—! And upset, and hurt, and feeling so raw when you walked away from me… And I loved Pepper and _she loved me, too_. She loved me back. She didn’t turn away from it. We started a life together and it was a beautiful life, Steve. Despite everything... even with all the loss. It really was. But you don’t stay with someone when you can’t love them in the way they deserve. I don’t love her any less, Steve.” Tony opens his mouth, looks away, then back again. 

He faces Steve, tilts his head, the first two tears fall. 

Two, small wobbly lines, like a bold splash of color against his face. 

Only it wasn’t pretty. It’s raw and vindicated. 

“But I didn’t love _you_ any less, either.” Tony slumps over, putting two hands over his face. His shoulders begin to shake in the silence. “Somehow, I think I was still waiting for you, even when I shouldn’t have.”

Steve watches, falls to his knees, and clutches Tony’s waist, hiding in the soft space of his belly. Steve lets the tears fall, breaths coming quickly. 

Tony falls to the floor beside him and they sit, arms around each other.

“I’m a real fucking idiot for being here. I’m saying… For staying... and god, hoping that you can give me _that_. Because…” Tony shakes his head, tears streaming from his face. He breathes in, chokes back a sob. “Because... I’ve said so much about deservingness and being happy. And I want that, so badly, with you. I’m here. After everything, Steve.” 

Tony wipes at his face viciously, fingers rubbing at his eyes and cheeks.

Steve isn’t any better. He sniffles loudly, cups Tony’s face with both of his hands. He doesn’t bother swiping at the streaks lining his face. He can barely see what’s in front of him. It’s blurry. But it’s Tony—his trembling, bitten lips and wet eyelashes.

“You could be anywhere.”

“I could be anywhere. Yeah.” Tony shudders, eyes holding Steve’s. 

“But you’re here... fuck. Tony. Nothing I say will ever be enough,” Steve begins, thumbs rubbing at the space under Tony’s eyes. “But I’m here, Tony. I’m not going. I’ll wait. You said. We deserve good things. You’re my good thing. I’ll make you happy.”

“Love me.” Tony punches his chest, not lightly, but not hard enough to move Steve. He keeps doing it. It’s not meant to hurt. It’s not a warning, but a plea. 

“I will— _I do_. Believe me, I do.”

Tony claws at his chest, hurt, jaw locked. He cups Steve’s face with both hands and stares into his eyes. “I’m still hurt. Sometimes, I’m still angry at you. I forgive you, but goddamnit, sometimes I hate you and I need you to hold me anyway. And _choose me_ and be here. Beside me. Love me. Because I deserve it, Steve.” 

“You do, sweetheart.” He pulls Tony into his lap. They sit on the rug with their bare asses.

Tony’s crying silently and Steve does what he can to offer comfort. He feels just as raw, lost, bursting with so much resentment for how their lives have unfolded.

But then.

There’s time.

And there’s now. Yet, it feels like he’s— they’ve reached the end of the rope here and are climbing out. 

Steve rubs slow circles on Tony’s back. It’s dry now, slightly cold, but that’s alright, Steve tries to warm it up as he strokes up and Tony. 

They’re silent for a long while. Tony slumps over, releasing the tension from his body and dropoing his head to Steve’s shoulder. They breathe. Inhale. Exhale. So boring, so human. But it’s so fucking hard to be alive and be responsible for yourself. Then, you love another person and become responsible for their livelihoods too, in one way or another. Whoever said love is blind is a fool because Steve thinks love is a choice. There’s always the possibility of turning away from it rather than facing it head-on. 

He’s said it again and again— Tony’s the braver one out of both of them. For extending his hand. For being here when he deserves so much more. Because fuck, this is just Steve Rogers, nothing but a man who’s been beaten and bruised. But Tony? In the battle when the sky looks at them— gods, aliens, humans, and creatures— angry and spiteful. There’s a bright flash of red. 

And that’s all it takes to know that everything will be alright.

They might take forever to be okay, but Steve thinks that some parts can’t be fixed, no matter how hard he tries. The world isn’t always black and white, and forgiveness isn’t always something that’s hardwon. On and on, he’s apologized, maybe he’ll always pray his sins away. But he owns it, and the choice to forgive isn’t his. 

He breathes. 

Once again, feeling like he’s in the cliffs of Vormir, staring down at the place where Natasha jumped. He wonders if love will always be like that. For all their talk about simple and easy, it seems completely fucked. 

And yet. Here he is. Here they are. 

Not afraid of the jump when there’s a rope leaning back to the cliffs.

Maybe love feels like jumping out over and over again.

And if that’s what it means to love Tony... then so be it.

Steve suspects Tony might feel the same way.

He rests his forehead on Tony’s, observes the dust motes dancing around the room. The light comes in through the windows, dancing like shadows across the plants on the kitchen sill.

There’s still the dirty mug from this morning—Steve’s favorite, Tony’s favorite. Chipped at the edges. But they still return to it, day by day.

“I want to wake up next to you every morning,” Steve whispers, adjusting Tony so he could bend his knees. “I want to lie in bed at night with you and talk about our day. Normal things, boring things. Things that happened to you when we were apart. I want to know about your childhood, your life before me. Before us. And I want to spend every moment of the day knowing that you’re here. With me. Despite it all. That we’ll be okay. That we’ll work through all of this. I want to know when you’re angry. When you’re upset, especially when it’s about me, or about us. I want to do the work of loving you.” 

Steve sniffles, sighing so heavily that he jostles Tony. The tears fall. “God, Steve. I’m tired of crying. I swear it, I don’t want to cry anymore. It makes me so fucking tired.”

Tony presses his fingertips on Steve’s eyes, shutting them before kissing each one. 

“I have a feeling we’ll always cry.”

“Dear god, I hope it’s because we’re laughing,” Tony says, voice sounding wet.

“That too. We can make it happen.” Steve opens his eyes. Tony’s barely an inch away. He looks up at Steve, leaning up. Steve meets him halfway for a slow kiss. 

“We can have that all, Steve. I want it all.”

He cups Tony’s face, making the kiss deeper and it’s like running into fire, not caring if he burns. Tony turns, throws a leg over to straddle Steve, and they’re kissing wildly, no longer pretending at softness. It’s all teeth, biting, and groans, especially when Tony flicks and pinches Steve’s nipple. The kiss turns desperate; he’s grabbing the globes of Tony’s ass, squeezing, until he finds the crack, then he runs a finger on the hole.

Tony pulls at his hair, moving Steve’s head to kiss his neck, then, Steve’s kissing all the parts he can reach, desperate. He rocks Tony back, arms around his waist as he dives in to kiss and mouth at his collarbone, then his chest. Lower and lower Steve goes until he lays Tony down on the rug.

“Fuck me. Please.”

Steve nods, frantic, grabbing his arms on Tony’s thighs again and again, eyes glazed. This man loves him. He should be happy. 

And he is. 

But it also hurts.

“Steve, come on.” Tony grabs his hand and pulls at it insistently. “Fuck me.”

Steve can’t even think. He’d love to fuck Tony right here, on the floor. “God, alright, sweetheart, hold on.” He hunches over, grabs Tony’s middle back and his knees, then pulls him into a carry. 

Tony doesn’t protest but he does roll his eyes and nip Steve’s pecs. He walks them quickly to the bedroom and sets Tony down, kissing him square on the mouth with a smack, then runs to the bathroom to grab the lube. 

When he returns, Tony’s settled on the pillows, flesh arm curled under his head, while his prosthetic hand plays with his tight balls. 

Steve stops, then stutters forward. Next thing he knows, he’s between Tony’s legs, shifting them up to stare at the furrowed hole. 

“God, Tony,” Steve groans, resting his forehead on Tony’s bent knee. He kisses it, watching as Tony’s face turns into a smirk. 

“Are you gonna fuck me, Steve? Say you’ll fuck me good.”

“I’ll fuck you good.”

“You won’t make me wait, will you?” Tony challenges, with an eyebrow raised. 

Steve shakes his head, uncapping the lube and squirting it to his fingers. He rubs it on his fingertips, making it warm before ghosting over Tony’s hole. 

He circles the rim, presses a finger in, watching Tony’s face fall into something pleased, then his eyes flash open, something solemn and earnest appearing on his face. “But I’d wait for you, anyway.”

“Tony, you’ll kill me.” He licks his lips, turned on at the sight of Tony’s cock, but is so overwhelmed that Tony’s so wanton and reckless in loving him. Since the beginning, Steve's long decided on loving without restraint. 

Yet, all the while, he’s threaded quietly, barely holding onto the stitches.

But Tony? He’s so honest and open with his words that it makes Steve weak. It’s as if love’s easy, even though they both know it’s not.

“God, Steve, you crying while you literally have your fingers up my ass isn’t doing anything for my ego.” He groans as Steve adds another finger, shoving in without warning. 

Steve leans down, kisses Tony’s stomach, wipes his face there, making Tony’s belly wet with tears. He fucks his fingers in, relentless, before dropping a kiss on Tony’s lips. 

Steve leans back on his heels, focuses on scissoring, and looks at Tony’s face for markers of what he likes. He twists, fingering in quick, short jabs and alternating it to something lazy and deep until he presses on Tony’s prostate.

“Fuck, Steve.” Steve leans down, removes his fingers and mouths at the hole. He blows on it lightly, smiling at the twitch. He offers a short lick with the tip of his tongue, then another, before fucking his fingers back in. 

Tony grabs his hair, fucks his ass to Steve’s face, moaning and cursing at Steve. It all sounds like, “love me, love me.”

So, Steve does. He dives in at Tony’s encouragement, flattens his tongue with long licks, circling the rim before pulling his fingers out, kissing Tony’s hole, then shoving them back in. His saliva and the lube drips from his mouth to his chin but he doesn’t care. He keeps going, focused on Tony’s breathy pants and Steve’s name coming out of his mouth. He ignores his own aching cock until Tony pulls at his hair, eyes-glazed, lips bitten.

“Fuck me, Steve. Come on.” 

Steve bends over, kisses him open-mouthed. Tony plays with his dripping beard affectionately, nipping at it until Steve moves away. He takes his cock, slicks it, then stares at Tony.

He heaves, “I saw…,” presses the head in, “the end… and there was you.” 

Steve slides in until he’s fully seated. 

“Tony,” he groans, pushing forward, rocking slow, letting Tony adjust. “You.”

“Here I am.” Tony fists the blanket. “Fuck me.”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” He pulls out, thrusts back in, slow, circling his hips. Steve doesn’t wait for a response, he presses in, again and again, trying to hit Tony’s spot. He wraps Tony’s legs around him, trying to deepen his thrust. Steve looks at where they’re connected, his dick hammering in and out of Tony. 

“You look so good, baby. Keep going.” Tony pants, fingers dipping down to circle his hole. It’s dripping with lube. He wiggles the tip of a mechanical finger in, fucking himself beside Steve’s cock. 

Steve pounces, hips driving in in short quick strokes. Tony feels so good wrapped around him. His vision tunnels to the image in front of him: Tony with one hand on the headboard, a finger fucking himself beside Steve, mouth open, eyes glazed. They stare at each other. Steve knows this isn’t just fucking or the act of filling Tony with his dick. It’s another puzzle they work on together, sewing parts of each other into tight little stitches, too afraid to break away.

“Tony,” Steve calls out, leaning forward and pulling Tony towards him, kissing his neck, his eyes, his lips, whatever he can reach. “Tony.”

“Steve—keep going, fuck me, harder.”

“Tony,” he groans, hips working faster now. He bites down, eyes focused on Tony who’s looking at him with wide-eyes. Steve’s eyes roll back for a moment, but he shakes it off—he wants to see Tony. “Tony, I see you.” 

“You, yeah, you.” Tony removes his fingers, hand going to stroke his dick.

“I never want to be wrong, you know this. I think you love me, too. And I don’t want to be wrong. Please. I don’t want to be wrong, not about this. I don’t...” Steve’s begging, he knows, but he really doesn’t care, but it’s his life that he’s begging for as he tells Tony, “Just this once, I don’t want to be wrong. After, I’ll be fine with being wrong any other time.” 

Steve leans forward, fucking into Tony deeper. They kiss, filthy, tongues all over the place. God, Steve closes his eyes, getting lost in the feeling of Tony scratching his back.

“Steve.” Tony pulls Steve’s face from his neck. Steve’s warm all over, and it’s only when Tony starts rubbing the corner of his eyes does Steve realize he’s crying. 

Steve doesn’t try to stop the tears that fall. 

“Steve.” Tony looks into his eyes with an open tenderness, a vulnerability Steve hasn’t seen for a long time. “Steve, you’re not wrong.” 

“Yeah?”

Tony nods, putting their foreheads together. “You deserve me. _I_ get to choose that. We deserve good things. You’re my good thing.”

“Now make me come.” Tony grabs Steve’s hand, puts it on his cock, and they jack it off together. Steve digs his knees it, fucking harder into Tony. “Come inside me.”

“I’ll come inside you,” he said, desperate. “Then, I’ll fuck my come back inside with my fingers. Would you like that?”

“Hmmm, yes.” Tony groans, throwing his head back, both hands going to the headboard now. He pushes back against Steve. 

Something primal takes over him. He doesn’t understand it, but knowing that Tony will lie in his bed beside Steve after they fuck, hole open for Steve to press his fingers into, fuck his own come inside pushes him over the edge. His hips stutter and he works Tony’s cock faster. 

“Tony.” 

“Yeah, I’m coming, Steve. Steve.” Tony groans, then he stills, lips twisting with a sigh. “Oh. Oh. Steve. Fucking. Fuck, Steve. Keep going. I’m coming.” 

Steve acts like he’s in battle, curls his toes, drives into Tony without control or finesse. He thrust, once, twice, deep, and then— 

“Fuck, Tony.” Steve collapses in Tony’s arms like the first night. He mouths at Tony’s chest, kissing it and tracing the scars with his tongue until both their heart rates return to normal.

Tony laughs, clenching around him. “We should have done that ages ago. Fuck, don’t pull out yet.”

He fucks himself against Steve’s softening cock, grimacing at the sensitivity until he finally stops and sighs.

Steve kisses the space under his eyes, once, twice, three times, then Tony’s lips as he moves off, sitting back on his knees. Tony opens his legs like an offering, giving view of Steve’s come leaking out of his rosy hole.

Tony hisses as Steve carefully uses his index finger to fuck it back inside.

“As promised,” he says with a smile. 

* * *

They lie there for a while, arms around each other, Steve pillowed on Tony’s chest. Tony sniffs at Steve’s hair and makes a fuss. 

“We smell like the lake and ugh, what the hell. Look at my hair.” Tony points at it, ruffling at the curls on top. 

Steve takes his wrists, kisses the insides, the patch of thin skin and its veins. “I like your hair like this.”

“Ugh, no. We need a bath.” Tony grimaces, smelling himself. 

They pad to the bathroom.

“A shower will be more efficient,” Steve trails after him, admiring the stretch of muscles along Tony’s backside.

He turns to Steve, grinning like he won a bet. “Who cares about efficiency when I get to hold you in my arms?”

They stand in front of the mirror, Steve’s arms around Tony, watching their reflections. He can’t even fathom that this is a moment in time—for it’s seemed impossible. And yet here they are.

“Is this what I have to look forward to?”

Tony smiles at Steve from the mirror. It’s a fleeting quirk of the lips. “Yeah.”

“It’s a good thing.” Steve kisses Tony’s shoulder, the two little moles right below his ear. 

Steve’s bath en-suite is utilitarian. He only has shampoo, conditioner, and a bar soap in the shower. Toothpaste, a single toothbrush, a comb, and a razor in the counter. But the rest of the room is filled with plants everywhere. Hanging in all four corners, some lined up by the large window overlooking the lake.

At first, when Izabel handed him the pots, he didn’t understand what to do. Yeah, water them, given them some sun. But then, he waters them, they grow. Simple. He likes taking care of things.

Tony sits on the bathtub’s ledge as Steve runs the water, checking every once in a while to measure the temperature. He ducks down to grab the bath salts and hands them to Tony’s awaiting hands.

He dumps half the jar into the tub with a cheeky grin before gingerly getting in. Tony spreads his legs open, inviting Steve in. “I’ll wash your back.”

Steve hops in, folding himself across Tony’s chest. The bathtub is modestly sized, but with Steve and Tony both inside, it’s a tight fit. He passes the wash cloth to Tony, closing his eyes and lying back.

“Usually it’s me holding you like this,” Steve hums, enjoying the feel of Tony’s hands on his shoulders.

“I like this.” Tony wipes Steve’s biceps, then his forearms. “I can’t decide which I like better.”

“You don’t have to decide. You can have it all.” 

They stay in the quiet. They relax into the water, satisfied with the silence. It’s nearing evening now and soon, Steve will make dinner. Tony will sit on the sofa in a robe, or maybe in Steve’s t-shirt and boxers, or maybe he’ll wear nothing but the blanket from earlier and sit on the farm table, legs crossed at the ankles watching Steve cut up carrots, potatoes, or whatever it is that they decide for dinner.

The window’s open and a cool breeze enters through the parted shutters. He painted them blue when he was still building the house, lost, insecure, and without direction. 

Now he has a blue bird feeder to hang on the oak tree. 

“Tony.”

“Hm?”

Steve tilts his head, looks at the ferns and croton on the side of the tub. There’s a leaf withering, he’ll have to cut it later, make room for the rest of the plant to bloom. “Are we gonna be okay?”

“I think so.”

“How do you know?” He presses, resting his head further Tony’s chest. 

Tony huffs, hand going to Steve’s scalp, massaging and pulling at the strands. “Fine, Steve, the world is fucked, love is messy. Despite all that shit, I’m here. You get that?”

Steve chokes, makes a protesting noise before cutting it off. He looks into Tony’s eyes. Wide, brown, alive. “How do you do that?”

“What?” Tony pokes his belly button with a smile. 

“Make things sound romantic.”

“Shut up.” Tony pinches his side. “It’’ll take work but as long as we’re vigilant. As long as we grab the rope. _Talk_. Be happy. Simple and easy.”

“Then we’ll be just fine, won’t we?” 

“Simple and easy, like I said.”

“Thank you.” Steve finds Tony’s hand, red and crafted out of alloy, intertwines their fingers. Steve’s fingers are already pruning, a stark contrast to Tony’s prosthetic. He brings his to his lips and kisses each fingertip, then the knuckles. “There’s you. All I thought of—all I ever think of.” 

“Is that how you say those three boring words that people usually say to their partners?” Tony runs the wash cloth over his neck. He parrots, “ _I saw the end of the universe and all I thought of was you._ ”

Steve pauses, brings their laced fingers to his chest, and leans his head up to look at Tony. He presses a kiss on the underside of Tony’s jaw. “I can say ‘I love you.’ Would you prefer that?”

Tony smiles, drops the cloth, and wraps his arms around Steve’s middle. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I like _I saw the end of the universe_... better.” Tony shifts, tilts Steve’s jaw, and kisses him squarely on the mouth. “Steve, _I saw the end of the universe._ ”

“And... you. There’s you,” Steve replies, simply. “I saw the end of the universe.”

“You.” Giddy, Tony laughs, repeating, “I saw the end of the universe… and?”

“And saw you. There’s you,” Steve declares, cranes his neck for another kiss. He’ll never tire of them. “I see you, Tony.”

“We need a bigger tub.” Tony smiles up at him, then pushes his back to their original position. He traces the lines of Steve’s tattoo. 

The one on the left first, the eastern bluebird, then the one on his right shoulder, the hummingbird. The water splashes out the tub but they pay it no mind. 

Tony looks down at him with a smile, small, private. No more hiding. He settles both hands on Steve’s shoulders, massaging, poking at the muscles.

Tony kisses his back. Steve hopes that it’s a kiss for each bird. “Steven Grant Rogers. I see you, too.” 

* * *

Later, once the bath becomes too cold for both of them, they wrap themselves in bright orange towels. “God, my man has no taste.”

“I thought it looked nice,” Steve pouts, handing Tony the towel before thinking better of it. He wraps one around his hips, then sets Tony by the counter and pats him dry.

“FRIDAY, remind me to go shopping for Steve. Add Gucci and Armani to that list.” Tony looks at the ceiling expectantly, hands on his hips. 

Steve bites his lips, bursting with happiness. God, what a fucking amazing thing it is to be happy. 

“Tony, FRIDAY isn’t here... yet.” 

Tony grins, with teeth, so wide that his gums show. He bursts out laughing. “You weren’t kidding, huh? You’ll make me happy.”

Steve nods, drying Tony’s knees, then swipes the towel back to his thighs and chest. “Whatever it takes, sweetheart.”

Steve tosses something together and calls it dinner. It’s just grilled chicken, vegetables, and left over rice and beans from the day before. Tony returns from his walk outside with a handful of nasturtiums. He shuffles to the kitchen in nothing but his boxers and offers the flowers to Steve with a kiss. 

Steve isn’t a romantic, not by a long shot—but Tony is. He sets the table, grabs a slender glass jar and puts the flowers between them. They sit across from each other. 

A long time coming.

They smile at each other throughout dinner. Steve can’t help but feel flustered when Tony hooks their legs under the table and swirls his tongue around his spoon. He keeps teasing Steve throughout the meal, making it hard to focus on chewing with his cock filling out. 

“You’re blushing.” Tony puts the cutlery down and pushes his plate away.

Steve ducks his head, smiles, then looks back up at Tony, still in awe, still in wonder. Will it always be like this? Like Steve’s seeing something for the first time— that’s his and who he belongs to?

They’ve been in this position so many times before, with Tony sitting on the farm table having a meal with Steve, or with Morgan. Other times he’d be in his tablet having coffee late in the evening. 

He recalls the first time Tony came over, sipping coffee from Steve’s favorite mug. It’s Tony’s favorite, too. Steve pretends to fight him over it in the mornings, but he soon gives up when Tony pouts and demands caffeine. It’s their ritual, Steve pushes, Tony prods, then the world turns without regard for two beaten men.

Tony leans on the wall, pats his belly. He burps and sticks his tongue out when Steve rolls his eyes. 

Tony sits on the counter while Steve does the washing up. After all the dishes are dried and slack, he fits into the space between Tony’s legs and kisses him, slow. Because there’s no rush, and they have time. Steve smiles into the kiss, cups Tony’s jaw, and shuts his eyes.

Happy.

* * *

They catch a film, not really playing attention. Tony watches it with glazed eyes, hand playing with Steve's nape and hair. 

He feels so loved and thinks, _I want to marry this man._ Then, his brain short circuits. He swallows, enraptured by the television's lights flickering across Tony’s features. Steve pulls Tony closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. With an eye roll, Tony goes willingly and sets his head to Steve’s chest. But still unsatisfied, he arranges Tony to sit on his lap. 

“Jesus, Steve. You’re carrying me like a baby. Are you going to put my head on your bicep next?”

Steve pretends to think, tilted his head like Tony usually does. “Now I’m tempted.”

“So, this is you, isn’t it? You run into love once you finally decide on it.” Tony thumbs his beard, scratching the hairs. 

“This is love, isn’t it?”

Tony looks thoughtful and certain. “That and more, Steve.” 

Later in the evening, Tony falls in and out of sleep, still on Steve, mechanical fingers tracing unknown patterns on his arms. Steve carries him to the bedroom, heart in his throat, hoping against all reason that maybe this is _their_ bedroom now. Tony favors the left side of the mattress, but they end up meeting in the middle and Tony turns Steve around so they both face the windows. 

Outside, the lake is dark, with only the light from the sky reflecting on its waters. Across the bridge is Tony’s place. Maybe it’s Steve’s now, too. They never really spent that much time at the smaller cabin, Tony preferring loitering around the veranda or Steve’s living room when he’s not in the basement workshop.

His mind wanders, jumping from one thought to the other, yet they all circle around this moment. Now.

And how long it’s taken to be here. Steve feels indignation at the world, but mostly at himself because this could have been his all along. Right? Maybe? Or maybe not. Life happens, he supposes, and consistently tracing where it went wrong or what could have been better is a bitter task. Still, even without the shield, he goes through life like a battle to be won. He’s on a warpath, but it’s different this time—it isn’t about winning, but making Tony a happy man. 

He shakes his head, lost in musings. 

Tony kisses the middle of his back, two kisses on the shoulder, and hugs him from behind. 

* * *

In the morning, Tony fucks him.

He kisses Steve awake, two pecks on the lips, one on each eye, and then his nose, so affectionate. Steve almost shakes with the gentleness of it. Instead, he smiles, eyes still crusty, runs his fingers over Tony’s hair. It’s sticking up all over the place. He’s so rumbled, eyes still half shut, and Steve’s heart twitches because it reminds him of finding Tony without sleep in the workshop.

Steve runs a thumb on Tony’s lips, his goatee. “Good morning, you.”

“Hello, you.” Tony offers a drowsy smile.

Then he proceeds to lazily kiss Steve’s neck, until he meanders further south, pressing their erections together. Tony takes his time, sucking Steve off, nipping at his abdomen, before fingering him open. 

Steve hums, eyes still closed. He tries fluttering them open, but they’re still heavy with sleep. There’s time, he tells himself. There will be other mornings when he’d open his eyes because Tony will be here the next morning, then the one after. Every morning. For every birthday, every holiday. Every day that’s just as boring and plain as the previous ones. 

Steve spreads his legs, enjoying Tony running both hands on his thigh. It goes on for a while, Tony sucking him, fingering him open, praising Steve. “Now I know that this is what I waited for,” Tony says, pressing his cock into Steve’s slick hole. 

Tony hovers above him, eyes lidded, thrusting in and out, slow, lazy, like they have all the time in the world. 

They come together with Tony’s hand wrapped around Steve, creating a sticky mess between their bodies. They kiss and pet each other until Tony’s stomach grumbles and they opt for quick showers and breakfast. 

Steve makes pancakes, using almond flour and soy milk, because Tony’s just a nightmare about it. He sits on the counter like the night before, the bowl of mixture balanced in his arms as Steve turns the griddle on. They talk idly about nothing at all. 

Tony sits there, the blue cabinets and the light filtering from the windows framing him. He’s bare chested, hairy legs rocking back and forth on the counter. Steve just takes a moment to stare, his chest feels tight again. Will looking at Tony always be like that? He breathes in deeply, straightens up, and half-sobs. 

“And here you are.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, smirks, and offers him the mixture. “Here I am.”

Steve grabs it, sets it to the side, and kisses Tony. Again and again, because he can’t stop. 

They finish breakfast and leave the clean up for later. They take their coffees out on the veranda, in the two rocking chairs Steve built. Tony’s on his left; they sit side by side, overlooking the lake at a distance. He smiles, thinking of yesterday— all the yesterdays they shared—and didn’t—that has led to now.

“Tony,” Steve says, setting down his mug on the side table.

Tony looks at him from over his cup. 

“I want to marry you.” 

Wide-eyed, shocked, Tony splutters on his coffee, chokes, then settles a hand to his chest. “What the fuck, Steve? You don’t just say things like that!”

He shrugs, helpless. “It’s what I want. It’s true.”

“God, Steve.” Tony huffs a laugh, then his shoulders shake. He runs a hand over his face before turning to Steve. “Are you fucking serious? You know I just got divorced like a year ago. Was my dick that good that you’re proposing already?”

“I’m serious.” He shifts forward, hands out for Tony to take. “I don’t wanna wait for the rest of my life to start. I want to wake up next to you every morning knowing you're my husband. I want us to have coffee in the morning and bicker over nonsense. I’ll kiss your shoulder in the mornings as we put away our dishes. We’ll go our separate ways into our workshops, I’ll build us another rocking chair where you can read to Morgan every night she’s here with us. 

“Then we’ll have lunch at Izabel’s and maybe have Carol and Sam and Bucky and Rhodey and the rest of them over for dinner. I’ll grill the burgers while you bring them coffee. And in the evenings, when the sun is about to set, I’ll ask you to sit by the tree as you work on your schematics. 

“Then I’ll draw you. I’ll walk over after I’m done and kiss you and I’ll tell you everyday in the way we say I love you: I saw the end of the universe, Tony. I saw it. And you. There was you. I know that’s trite and boring and corny, but it’s true. I close my eyes and I see you. I don’t know how I went so long without you.”

“Steve, shut up.”

Steve shakes his head. “We’ll look at the lake together and I’ll know you’ll be by my side for the rest of our lives.”

“You’re serious.” Tony stares. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to say no. Damn you, Steve.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Steve laughs. Tony’s speechless for once. “We don’t have to get married _now or tomorrow_ or even the next day. Or ever. I just want to wake up knowing I’m yours. I want you to go on about your day in the workshop, building things and remembering, _knowing_ that I belong to you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy. So, we don’t have to get married. But it’s there for you to decide, if you want, if you’re ever ready.”

Tony groans. “Fuck, Steve. You can’t just… marriage. Wow. I’m just... lost for words. That _never_ happens. I need a minute.” 

He holds up a hand, breathes, finishes his coffee. Steve stays quiet, content on just tracing Tony's body with his eyes. 

Finally, Tony turns, flicks Steve’s fingers, and grabs them. He interlaces their hands. “So what, we just wake up one day and realize we are _finally_ ready to do _this_?” He gestures between them, jaw slacked. 

Steve sure hopes so, it’s been over a decade. He bites his lip. “We’ve sacrificed and suffered enough, don’t you think? Let’s be happy.” 

“God, you’re an impossible man. So what, I guess I’m moving in in this equation?” 

“Don’t act like you don’t already live here. You can start the wiring for FRIDAY tonight if you want,” Steve reasons, feeling the big smile on his face. God, his eyes sting. He swallows, bringing Tony’s hand to his lips. A kiss, another. “My house is bigger and I’ve got a garden. You can keep the lake house across the river as a workshop, or a guest house for when Rhodes and Carol come over. Or you can go there when you get tired of me.” 

“I’m always tired of you, Steve. You’ve worn me out.” Tony comes over and settles on his lap. “I can be convinced for a fall wedding. Here, at the lake.”

“A wedding by the lake,” Steve nods, croaking. His eyes are welling up again. He feels the stream go down his face. Once, twice. 

And so, life begins. 

Again and again, he finds his way back to Tony. At the center of it all, his love is constant. 

Tony kisses his eyes, and when Steve opens them, he sees Tony’s lashes, wet. “Okay, fine. I guess we’re doing this.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, I’m happy,” Tony deadpans, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“So am I.” 

* * *

They spend the rest of the day in each other’s arms, on the couch, watching films. After lunch, Tony pulls out his tablets, wakes FRIDAY up, and scans the house for the schematics. He works with FRIDAY for a few hours, designing the wiring for the lake house. Steve sketches Tony, smiling the entire time.

Then, Tony looks out the double doors, pointing at the sunset. “Do you want to put the hummingbird feeder up? There. On that branch.”

“How’d you know that’s what I was thinking?” 

Tony stands, fills the glass with water and sugar, and hands it to Steve. “Because I see you, Steve.”

Steve just smiles, because no words will do.

He opens the door, and they walk outside hand in hand. 

Steve stands on his toes, ties the bird feeder to a low hanging but sturdy limb. Satisfied, he stands back, pulling Tony to his chest. They stare at it, a splash of dark blue beside all greens and browns.

He pulls Tony to the docks and they sit the way they’ve done many times before: Tony between the V of Steve’s legs, his back on Steve’s chest. 

Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s middle and looks ahead. Across the way is Tony’s—their other house. The misty blue lake winks as if it knew this is where Steve would find himself all along. 

He sees a splash of red. 

It’s just a hummingbird gliding to the feeder. It chitters and sucks on the nectar. 

Then there’s another. Two flying around each other. Together. 

He kisses Tony’s shoulder, holds him tight, laughs. 

Tony makes a sound of complaint before pressing his body more firmly to Steve’s chest. “What are you on about now?”

Steve shakes his head, pointing at the birds. “Life... it’s something.”

Tony hums, lacing his fingers with Steve’s. “It is. But then again, there’s you.”

“There’s you.” 

Tony turns to him, a tiny smile on his face. 

The birds fly away, higher and higher. Just two tiny things disappearing into the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to blue & nathan for the beta, & angstony for the cheer. + thank you to sapph for being my number one in this fic 🤮🤢🔪
> 
> And thank YOU for reading this and joining me in this journey. As I said in the beginning, this fic is about love. I hope that shines through. And when things are rough, remember that they can also be both easy and simple -- even if in the end, they're not. Grab the rope.
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated. All the love to you. <3
> 
> **[Dec 19, 2020] Tree, Temp, and Blue got me the art for Christmas 2020. Thank you to my dearest anti's for this gift. It's a shot of serotonin straight to my veins. Fuck. Thank you.**
> 
> [Link to artist.](https://tsukiharu.tumblr.com/)


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